The Manor
by AStarr
Summary: *Pt 1 COMPLETED!* 5th Yr: Hogwart students face the ever-continuing threat of Dark Lords & teenage hormones. Featuring Hermione, Draco, Harry, Ron, Ginny & others old & new! Read if you want fun, adventure, drama, or love … R/R!!!!!!!! Recently made AU
1. Uninvited Visitors

THE MANOR

Author's note: Hi. I've just figured out all the difficulties with uploading documents etc., so I'm presenting my first fic ever. I'm trying to write in a way not too far removed from JKR's which is why there's less romance/angst than other fics which are for that purpose only. But rest assured! Love does figure in a complicated, mixed-up feelings, sort of way. The fic is also not only centred around two, or three characters, but hopefully a vast array. This is the first part of what is conceptualised to be a three part tale. My characters are drawn from the books, but Draco Malfoy is just a little more complicated. _He _is no doubt influenced by other excellent fics I have read on this site or others. Anyway, enjoy and comment … and be kind. Remember, I'm new!

By the way, I just realised that Draco Malfoy doesn't show up at all in this chapter. Don't be discouraged! Read on, and you'll find he figures in a large way.

Chapter 1 – Uninvited Visitors

Hermione Granger, fifteen year old Muggle-born witch, leaned against the window sill in her room, watching the tree of next-door, and listening to the sound of cars, talking people, and chirping birds from her home. She sighed a little, teddy bear (Sebastian) cuddled against her chest, her hand holding her place in the textbook she had been studying (_Advanced Arithmancy Volume II_), her mind amazingly distracted from her studies as she glanced outside.

The summer holidays had been nice. Hermione had visited Australia for a month, and had been home now for about three weeks. It was now starting to feel very quiet in the Muggle world – it was so very … mundane, compared to the fizzing, crackling energy that always occupied the wizarding world. She wondered if Harry felt the same way, since he did live in an extremely Muggle home, and pondered this thought for a while. Harry probably enjoyed the relative 'peace' at the Dursley's home, compared to the break-neck pace he had put in during their fourth year at Hogwarts. After all, it wasn't everyday that someone was constantly pursued by a raving, lunatic wizard who had managed to rise from the dead.

Hermione shuddered at the thought of Voldemort, more commonly known as 'He Who Must Not Be Named' or 'You Know Who.' Voldemort was a terror, a Dark Lord of a magnitude not seen in more than a hundred years in the Wizarding community. Previously, Hermione had never truly feared Voldemort – sure, she had 'oohed' and 'aahed' in shock and apparent fear at the tales of his cruelty, and had been fearful for Harry's safety, but it wasn't until May, when Cedric's cold, dead body had been brought back to Hogwarts that she actually realised exactly what Voldemort meant to wizards and witches, not to mention Muggles and Muggle-born wizards and witches.

Hermione was always nervous when thinking about Voldemort now, especially as she considered aspects of her relationship with the Harry Potter, the enemy of Voldemort. She was sure Ron had never really thought about what it meant to be a friend of Harry in his bouncing, optimistic way, but she most definitely had many times, especially since Cedric's death. One of the best ways to attack someone, such as Harry, was to kill off those that that someone loved for and cared for, and Hermione was fairly certain that her and Ron classified as friends Harry loved and cared for. They were both vulnerable, not fully trained wizards (or witches, in the case of Hermione), and surely possessed not the supernatural luck Harry seemed to have. Hermione found herself reading more and more about the Dark Arts nowadays, always fearful of the Dark Lord's next step. In other words, Voldemort's dramatically grand (yet unknown to most) re-entrance into the world of the living, was not a good thing at all.

Even now, Hermione reluctantly put aside her Arithmancy text book in favour of a heavier tome – covered with dark leather, its yellowy pages stained with something she didn't even want to know was, and opened it up at the page she had been reading earlier about a curse, and more importantly for her, how to deflect it. You wouldn't have supposed, Hermione thought, that these Dark Arts books would include information about _defense_ against the Dark Arts, but they did. Well, maybe Dark Wizards constantly had little backstabs at each other and had to keep themselves alive to climb the power struggle.

A tap from the window disturbed her study, and Hermione looked outside, and grinned, pleased, to see the visitor – a snowy white owl. Hermione often wondered if her neighbours ever noticed the owls that streamed into her room (she had the _Daily Prophet _delivered every morning, to keep up with events with wizards, and to keep an eye on Rita Skeeter), and what their thoughts were, if they were aware.

'Hello, Hedwig,' Hermione smiled.

Hedwig hooted, and dropped three pieces of parchment that had been rolled together. Hermione picked it up gratefully. News from her friends!

She pulled the parchments apart, to see three letters, each folded, all looking remarkably different. Well, as different as letters can get. One was written on a piece of scrap parchment, with the tracings of scribbly handwriting visible from the back (from Ron, she automatically supposed). Another was written on a piece of girlish, flowery parchment (obviously from Ginny), and the last was on neat parchment folded precisely, rather like the sort used for doing school homework. She opened this first, and it was, as she had guessed, from Harry.

__

Dear Hermione,

Thanks heaps for your postcard. It sounds like you had a great time in Australia. Are the bunyips friendly? Ron seems to think bunyips can only be scary. Well, you know Ron. I'm currently at the Burrow, I got there yesterday. I think Ron's letter will be inviting you to stay at the Burrow for the last week of the holidays.

My scar hasn't really hurt these holidays, maybe that's why Professor Dumbledore let me go to the Weasleys'. I suppose Voldemort must be gathering forces now, but he hasn't actually done anything evil … yet, and for some reason, that makes me really uncomfortable. I haven't heard anything from Snuffles. I think he's too busy running around for Dumbledore, and keeping undercover. Mr Weasley is doing a lot too, I think. He's almost never home, and when he is, he looks very tired and worn out. Mrs Weasley's getting quite worried about him, actually.

By the way, Ron wanted me to ask you if you'd heard from Viktor Krum. He's too embarrassed to ask, and I think he's still harbouring suspicions that you went to Bulgaria instead of Australia. 

Harry

Hermione smiled at the last comment. Ron's suspicious behaviour about Viktor last year, while frustrating, had been amusing. But on a more serious note, she was relieved to read that Voldemort hadn't done anything … yet.

She opened Ron's letter eagerly, deciphering his scrawling hand quickly from four years of experience in helping him with his homework and essays.

__

Dear Hermione, Mum said you can come to the Burrow. It'll be great. If you're allowed, we'll come and pick you up tomorrow night after Dad gets home from work. Hope to see you then, Ron.

Hermione looked at the bottom, to see what looked like the beginning of a scrawled question – '_did you_,' but hurriedly scratched out. Hermione had a feeling she knew what Ron wanted to ask about. 

Last of all, Hermione picked up Ginny's letter, written in Ginny's curly handwriting, sprinkled with hearts, stars and flowers, as was typical of Ginny's correspondence.

__

Dear Hermione,

Can you please tell Ron to stop shoving me off whenever he wants to talk to Harry? It's getting kind of annoying. Its like he's got some big secret, and he's refusing to talk to me about it. I'm glad you're coming. Bill, Charlie and Percy are great, but after a while, they're not much fun to talk to really – brothers!

Anyway, I thought you might like to get caught up on the state of affairs in the Weasley household before you arrive – I SAW Ron's little scrap, which couldn't possibly hold any sort of information whatsoever aside from 'hi, you're invited to the Burrow, pick you up tomorrow, bye.'

Here, Hermione gave a small smile, Ginny was fairly accurate in an analysis of her brother.

__

Fred and George have written about a million order forms, and have actually begun delivering them (borrowing Errol, Hermes and Pig without asking) to stacks of wizarding households. They keep claiming they have some investor, and wink an awful lot to each other when they say that. You wouldn't have any idea what that's all about, would you? Percy's taken Crouch's old job. Bill and Charlie have both quit their jobs in Egypt and Romania, and are also working at the Ministry. Dad's always at the Ministry. He's rarely home. And Mum's been acting very nervously. She's always telling Fred and George to do something serious 'in light of recent events,' but they keep insisting in this scarily serious voice that people need a laugh every now and then. Ron's being an annoying older brother. And I'm perfectly fine.

Harry arrived yesterday, and I get the feeling something's wrong, that he's not talking much about. Maybe you can talk to him when you get here. Obviously, Ron's not figured out anything in his usual thick-headed way.

By the way, Ron's REALLY curious about Viktor Krum. You know what, Hermione? I think he's got a major crush on you.

Ginny

Hermione scanned Ginny's letter again, reading between the lines. Obviously, Professor Dumbledore was also rallying forces like Voldemort, but, forces of good instead of bad. She had to admit she was surprised Percy was now in charge of International Affairs, considering he only had one year's experience at the Ministry. Bill and Charlie were both competent wizards, and had now been hauled back from whatever they had previously been pursuing, to help. And Mr Weasley was evidently doing a lot. Whatever it was, Hermione was curious to know, and longed to be at the Weasley house right that moment.

The comment about Harry also raised concerns with Hermione. She had sensed he wasn't saying something in his letter, and this made Hermione worried. She could imagine Ginny's worries very easily, seeing as the younger girl had always admired Harry, and wondered how he was dealing with the events of May.

After thinking all these complex thoughts, her mind finally turned to the last comments about Ginny's brother, and felt herself wallowing in even more complex thoughts, though of a different kind. Hermione was fully aware of Ron's developing feelings for her, but she wasn't completely sure about her own feelings towards the red-haired boy. Her emotions would get especially mixed up, whenever she thought about her other best friend, the famous one with messy black hair and green eyes.

Hermione sighed – it was all so complicated – and grabbed a piece of parchment. She quickly wrote a message to tell the Weasleys she would go to the Burrow with them, and passed it to Hedwig, who took off at once. Then, Hermione headed downstairs to her parents, to talk about going to the Burrow tomorrow night.

***

Hermione spent the next day shopping with her parents – the two dentists, Timothy and Helen Granger, and after that, went to a pleasant family dinner with her grandparents on her mother's side. It had been an enjoyable meal, and they returned home at about half past eight, with ample time to meet Ron, Hermione thought.

She wasn't entirely sure how she would be picked up, last year they had used Floo, but Ron hadn't exactly specified. So, as her father drove them home, she kept an eye out for the Weasleys. None of the three Grangers noticed anything amiss as they drove into the driveway of their home – the doors were locked as usual. None of their eyes noticed that the window to Hermione's upper floor room was opened and flapped in the cool evening breeze.

They did notice though when they went into the home, and turned on the lights.

The shrill shriek of Dr Helen Granger could probably be heard neighbourhoods away.

The house had been completely ransacked. Chairs overturned, every single cabinet, shelf, wardrobe, door thrown open. Hermione's father's entire collection of the _Dentist's Association_ magazines from 1976 had been scattered about, spines broken, pages torn, while her mother's collection of herbs had been thrown about the kitchen, making Hermione and her father sneeze, and her mother wail in despair. Helen Granger was an obsessive about organisation.

However, the place of worst damage seemed to have been Hermione's bedroom. Her bed had been slashed in two, feathers from her quilt and pillows still floating about. Her wardrobe had been thrown open, clothes strewn across the ground. Similarly, her desk had been completely trashed.

'What's happened, Tim?' Helen Granger asked tearfully. She was a short, pretty, and fairly curvaceous woman, with curling brown hair.

Timothy Granger looked about grimly. In complete contrast to his wife, he was tall and thin with fair hair. 'I'm calling the police,' he said, heading to the phone, whose line remarkably hadn't been cut.

__

The place looks like it's been searched, Hermione thought to herself. _And the target was my room_. But whatever for?

After about ten minutes, police, sirens wailing, drove crazily down the small street, and screeched to a halt in front of the Grangers' house. Hermione, coming quickly downstairs, watched as policemen jumped out.

'Stay out o' the way, lass,' one of them, a big burly man with an iron-grey beard, gestured at Hermione. Hermione frowned heavily. No way. She was beginning to have her suspicions about this whole business. It reeked fairly strongly of magic, and now, to confirm her feelings, she tore upstairs, and quietly uttered a word with her wand.

'_Revealus_,' she whispered. A faint shimmer came over her room, and she nodded, with some satisfaction. Someone _magical_ had been searching her room and her house, but for what? She had no magical artefacts or items of importance in her house, but the wizards had even gone so far as to smash in the television (these wizards obviously did not realise that televisions were not just empty boxes).

Meanwhile, the police were combing the house. 'No jewellery missing, mam?' they asked Hermione's mother.

Helen Granger searched her jewellery case (for some unknown reason, the lock had failed without having broken or anything), but shook her head. 'No. Everything here.'

'Money?' the cop tried again.

Timothy Granger checked. 'It's all here.'

The police were getting frustrated. It seemed as if nothing had happened to the house, except for some pretty heavy damage. Crookshanks yowled loudly as one of the police stepped on his tail, and scratched his leg, making the policeman swear very loudly. Then, two of the policemen tripped over one of the chairs that lay on the ground, making them also swear rather vocally. Things were not going well, when even more drama was added to the Granger household which had begun to attract attention from neighbouring households.

The cold fireplace, in which the police had placed their notebooks where they had written down observations, suddenly flared up with green flames, and three people stumbled out onto the ashes, with bits of charred notebooks all over them.

'Harry? Ron?' Hermione ran towards them, and gave them both a hug, whereupon two of the policemen keeled over in a dead faint, while the other one just stood there opening and closing his mouth like a fish at the rather black-looking messy haired boy with glasses, tall, lanky red-headed boy, and the tall, thin balding red-haired man.

'Hello Tim, Helen,' the tall, thin balding red-haired man said to the two dentists, who smiled, before giving the still standing policeman a nervous glance.

Mr Weasley though had obviously picked up the problem. 'Er, what happened,' he asked a little weakly.

'The house was ransacked, Mr Weasley,' Hermione informed the older Weasley seriously. 'I think they were wizards, there were magical traces, but, I don't know why.'

That was it. The last policeman fainted dead away at the mention of the 'm' word.

'Oh dear,' Mr Weasley noted. He eyed the chaos. 'Were your things packed?' he asked Hermione.

Hermione nodded. 'It's been searched, but I can fix it, if I'm given permission to do magic.' She'd already done the Revelation charm, but that involved little magic and obviously hadn't been detected by the Ministry.

'Alright then. You do that quickly, and I'll summon a Muggle Task Force to clean up the mess here, and memory charm these – er, please-men and neighbours of yours,' Mr Weasley decided. He turned to Hermione's parents. 'If you'll bear with me –'

Hermione bolted upstairs with Harry and Ron fast at her heels.

'Wow, this is a mess,' Ron observed, looking around in amazement.

'Yes, but I don't know what they could have been after,' Hermione fretted. 'They were wizards, or witches, I did a Revelation charm, but what were they searching for? I don't have anything of magical value!'

Harry frowned. 'Nothing at all? Not even any rare books you might have borrowed from the library, or persuaded your parents to buy?' The last comment was spoken teasingly, and it made Hermione's heart jump just a bit as she shook her head.

They entered Hermione's room, and knelt down before her trunk, which had been slashed and opened. '_Reparo!_' she flicked her wand-holding wrist.

Crookshanks had followed them now, and Ron stroked the cat on its squished head. 'Were you here, Crookshanks?' he asked. 'Could you tell us who did it?'

If possible, it seemed that Crookshanks shook his head with an irritated meow. Although the trio would never find out, Crookshanks was currently berating himself for having left the house to flirt with the new cat two streets down while Hermione had gone out.

'What actually happened?' Harry asked.

'We were out,' Hermione said, as she repaired each item in her trunk, 'shopping and then dinner, and when we got home, it just looked like this!'

Harry glanced around, spying the opened window that flapped in the small breeze. 'Did you open the window?'

Hermione looked startled, and shook her head. 'No! That's how they must have entered, on broom through the window in my room. And then they couldn't find whatever it was, and went around the rest of the house searching.'

'Er, right,' Harry nodded.

'Do you think it could have been You-Know-Who?' Ron asked vaguely as he surveyed the chaos.

Hermione swallowed nervously. 'Of course not,' she said, voice lacking conviction. 'No one's dead, there's no Dark Mark.'

'Yeah, but you weren't home,' Ron pointed out. 'There wasn't anyone to kill.'

Hermione ignored him, thinking very worriedly to herself. She had almost finished repairing everything, and she pointed her wand to a photoframe which had been smashed, a photograph inside torn up. '_Reparo_,' she ordered.

The broken glass and pieces of photo flew together, blending themselves seamlessly together. Or should have. The photograph had a gaping hole at the side.

'There's a piece still missing!' a startled Hermione said.

'Your charm went wrong?' Harry asked, alarmed.

'No, no!' The idea, of course, was unthinkable. 'The piece mustn't be here. _Reparo_ will only work if the pieces are still present.'

The photograph, she blinked sadly, happened to be a non-wizarding one – Colin Creevey hadn't developed it right – but she had still kept it, thinking it was rather nice. It had featured the three of them, standing together beside the lake – her, Harry and Ron.

Now, the photograph featured only Harry and Ron. A torn hole existed where she should have been.

'You're missing,' Ron said, inspecting the incomplete photograph.

'Yes,' Hermione said. 'But what does it mean?' Several possibilities were beginning to whir through her brain, and she began to feel extremely glad that she hadn't been at home. She wondered what her missing picture meant, and shuddered at the possibility that it had been meant as a threatening gesture. Her thoughts, the ones that had filled her mind during the holidays – that it was dangerous to be a friend of Harry Potter – recurred, and she visibly shivered as if with a sudden draught.

'Don't worry,' Harry comforted. 'Maybe the piece got caught up on somebody's shoe, or they picked it up by mistake.'

'Maybe,' Hermione said dubiously. She was glad of Harry's efforts to comfort her, but she was still terribly worried.

For some reason, Hermione took the torn photo, and put it in her pocket. She snapped shut her suitcase. 'Okay, let's go.'

They helped Hermione down the stairs, whereupon Mr Weasley handed them Floo powder. 'Leave now, you three, and get to the Burrow safely. I'm trying to clean up the mess here.'

'Alright, Mr Weasley,' Hermione nodded. She turned to her parents, who were watching with bemusement and relief as few wizards hurried about the place, using several reparing charms to restore the house to its previous state. Another wizard was currently aiming his wand at one of the policemen – '_obliviate!_'

'Bye, mum, dad,' she hugged them both.

'Do look after yourself, Hermione,' her mother said, giving her only child a tight hug. 'I'll miss you, but keep yourself safe at Hogwarts.'

'Don't worry, mum,' Hermione smiled wryly. 'Where Professor Dumbledore is, is probably the safest place in all of England.'

'Look after yourself,' her father said, and Hermione hugged him. 'Don't go running off looking for trouble, and listen to what the teachers say.'

'I will,' Hermione promised.

She turned to the fireplace. Ron went first, and then she stood at the fireplace.

'The Burrow!'

Green flames overtook her, and she disappeared from the Granger's household for a year.


	2. Diagon Alley

THE MANOR

Chapter 2 – Diagon Alley

The sun shone brightly through the small crack of a window, and Hermione stretched out luxuriantly on the small camp bed she slept on. The light grew brighter, and finally, Hermione found herself forced to awaken, no longer able to shield the sunlight from her eyes and sleep.

Opening her eyes, she smiled to see the room she was in. Ginny had evidently already awoken, and was downstairs, but the room was clean as a pin, as opposed to Ron's room. The room had been painted a pale, pastel pink, and the furniture, although the paint was peeling slightly, was white. Hermione's belongings were piled at the bottom of her camp bed, and now, Hermione leapt up, and changed swiftly into a pair of old, loose jeans and a blouse, before hurrying downstairs, stopping every so often on the stairs to tie the shoelaces of her sneakers, urged on by the smell of frying bacon and fresh bread.

Last night, Hermione had fallen asleep almost straight away, after being urged to drink a cup of hot cocoa by Mrs Weasley. The rest of the Weasley household had still been awake, Fred and George, Ginny, Bill, Charlie and Percy, and she had been greeted with friendliness.

Now, she went quickly into the crowded kitchen, where she could see Bill, Ginny, Harry and Ron were eating breakfast.

'Good morning,' she said cheerfully.

Ron, whose head was burrowed in his arm, gave a groan. 'How can you be so cheerful at this hour in the morning? I wouldn't have tried to get up if it weren't for the fact that Pig was hungry.'

'Ron, it's already half past nine,' Hermione said primly. 'Of course I'm cheerful, although I shouldn't really be. I should have woken up ages ago, and begun studying.'

Ron raised his head slightly, shook it in disgust, and shoved another massive bite of bacon, eggs and toast into his mouth, before dropping his head once more onto his arms. Harry raised a brow at this, but turned to smile at Hermione.

'Good morning,' he said, and was echoed by Ginny and Bill. Ginny was fairly awake, and was eating quickly and neatly, while Bill – although not as asleep as Ron, held his head in one hand, the other hand holding a cup of suspiciously strong coffee up to his mouth.

'What are we doing today?' Hermione asked, beginning to eat the huge breakfast laid out before her.

'Quidditch,' Ron mumbled.

'You can't possibly be planning to spend the entire day playing Quidditch,' Hermione protested.

Here, Ron sat up quickly. 'Hermione! I have to get into the house team this year! Wood's gone. The keeper spot is open. You know I wanted to get in last year, but we had the Tournament, so I couldn't get it, but I will this year.' He said all this with great determination. 'And of course, that means practise.'

Hermione sighed. 'Haven't you already spent all holidays practising?' she asked.

'Yeah, but I can't afford to slacken off one bit,' Ron said, with decisiveness.

'Who do you think the Quidditch captain will be, Harry?' Bill asked, with a trace of interest. Hermione noticed the fang earring was gone, but that he had acquired a new belt, which looked as if it were studded with the teeth from some dangerous monster. His hair had also been cut, but was spiked up to create a semi-mohawk.

Harry hesitated. 'I don't think it'll be Fred or George,' he said, half apologetically, making Bill grin. 'I think it's most likely it'll be Angelina, Angelina Johnson,' he clarified. 'She's very good, with quite good strategic skills,' he added. 'But then again, Katie's a bit more stable, and Alicia can pacify the team best.'

Bill nodded at the no-answer, and the table continued eating. In time, Hermione spoke up. 'What have you been doing lately, Bill?'

Bill considered the question, sipping his coffee. 'Actually, that's classified information,' he said, smiling. 'You'll probably figure out some of it eventually, but I'm doing all manner of things for Dumbledore.'

'Is Charlie too?' Hermione asked, interested.

Bill nodded. 'He's doing something early today, but I got to sleep in,' he gave a small yawn, 'for once.'

Hermione considered asking Bill more questions, but decided not to. Bill looked a bit too tired, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes. It would be kinder not to pester him. Presently, though, Bill rose and went to get ready for his day's work.

'Met up with Krum anytime these holidays, Hermione?' Harry asked slyly, glancing over at Ron.

Ron's fork clattered onto his plate.

'No,' Hermione, casually eating. 'I was in Australia most of the time. Mum and Dad had a dentist's convention there, which was pretty boring. However, I spent most of my time visiting local Australian magical sites. And bunyips are _not_ scary, Ron,' Hermione said, grinning. 'You should see some of the spiders they have there though,' she added thoughtfully.

'Right,' Ron said weakly, turning a little green.

'I really wanted to see an Antipodean Opal Eye – they're indigenous to Australia, you know, but I didn't get to. Some of the Aboriginal magical rites are fascinating though. And they have so many useful bush plants that can be used in potions. Joey showed me some of the potions his parents made,' Hermione added.

'Joey?' Ron and Harry both asked suspiciously.

'This boy I met there …' Hermione winked at Ginny, who had been gazing love-lorn at Harry.

'Really?' Both Ron and Harry attempted to look disinterested.

'But the billiwigs were amusing! I got stung once,' Hermione changed the subject mischievously, seeing their faces go a little red in frustration. 'One of the most interesting things was how some of the charms they use are just a bit different to ones we use. That was really fascinating.'

Harry and Ron, clearly disinterested, tried to look interested.

'Never mind,' Hermione shook her head. 'How was your holiday?' 

Ron sighed. 'I wanted to see the Chudley Cannons game, but Dad was too busy to take me, so that was out. Instead I spent all my time either practising Quidditch with Ginny, or staring at my homework.'

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. 'Staring?'

'Didn't make much sense,' Ron shrugged.

'But you should have tried a little harder,' Hermione retaliated. 'You could have owled me for help.'

'You were too busy having fun in Australia,' Ron said, shaking his head. 'With this Joey person,' he added pointedly, scowling.

Hermione decided to put Ron out of his misery. 'Joey's an eight years old kid, Ron,'

Ron, and Harry's expressions brightened. 'Sounds like a fantastic little chap,' Ron said jovially. Ginny, laughing at her brother's antics, left the kitchen to get changed out of her pyjamas.

'What's happened these holidays?' Hermione asked Harry, now that Bill and Ginny had left.

'More's happened to you than me,' Harry said pointedly. 'I've had absolutely nothing happening these holidays. The Dursley's weren't even that awful. I did absolutely nothing, except for housework and homework.'

'Not even a twinge in his scar,' Ron reported. He'd evidently spoken to Harry about it.

'You sound disappointed,' Hermione accused Ron. 'And you,' she stared hard at Harry.

'Come on, Hermione,' Harry laughed. 'I'm not that foolish. Did I tell you about Dudley, though?'

Harry and Ron both grinned wickedly, as Hermione gave Harry a long look. She had the distinct feeling that he was avoiding something.

'What about Dudley?' Hermione asked resignedly.

'You know the diet thing last holidays?' Harry prompted.

'Yes.'

'It didn't really work back then.'

Hermione rolled her eyes heavenward.

'But these holidays!' Harry and Ron both burst out laughing. Ron took up the rest of the tale. 'The pig spent the whole holidays sweating it out at the gym, and dieting excessively! Do you know why?'

'I wouldn't have thought Dudley could stand on a treadmill without breaking it,' Hermione commented dryly.

'He broke two on the way,' Harry corrected. 'And three of those cycling things.'

'So why the sudden hopeful loss of weight in Dudley?' Hermione asked.

'Because there's a girl involved,' Ron's smile had turned positively vicious.

Hermione tut tutted Ron's attitude.

'But, Herm, he was hilarious. It was always "Gwendolyn this," or "Gwendolyn that," or "do you think Gwen will notice how good I look?"' Harry imitated his cousin.

'So how does he look now?' Hermione asked. 'Better?'

'Unfortunately, he's still of killer whale proportions,' Harry said, attempting to be serious.

'Although he wobbles slightly less,' Ron tried to be fair.

Hermione rolled her eyes, just as Harry and Ron stood up. 'Quidditch,' they explained in unison.

The next few days passed peacefully enough in the Burrow. Hermione spent much of the time studying, but it was fun to have meals with her friends, or to joke around with them after dinner. Sometimes, she also helped Ginny with the household chores, such as shopping in the little village nearby, or aiding with the cooking, cleaning or washing. However, she never managed to talk to Harry alone, without Ron, or Ginny there. She could tell that Harry didn't want to say anything while they were around, and it seemed like he didn't want to say anything to her either, so it would be a task of great persuasion.

Hermione became accustomed to seeing Mr Weasley, Percy, Charlie and Bill leaving at unearthly hours and returning to the Burrow after the rest of them were asleep. Fred and George eased their teasing of Percy, partly because of Mr Weasley's unusually firm interference, and partly because of Percy's involvement in 'real' matters now. Well, more real than before, when he had dealt with the thickness of cauldron bottoms.

'Today, we're going to Diagon Alley,' Mrs Weasley announced one morning a couple of days before September 1st when school would start. They had all received their letters from Hogwarts the day before, and it seemed like a good time to pick up school supplies.

'I've already purchased my school textbooks,' Hermione told them. 'Except for _Standard Book of Spells Grade V_ – they were out of stock.'

'How did you know which textbooks to get?' Harry asked, puzzled.

'I asked the teachers at the end of last term,' Hermione explained. 'But I need to pick up more parchment, potions supplies, and stuff like that.'

The others nodded. In other words, Hermione would be coming with them. It didn't take long before the Weasleys plus Harry and Hermione had flooed to Diagon Alley. The sight of the sunny, narrow street filled with witches and wizards, filled Hermione with a great deal of contentment, and after they stopped off at Gringotts for Harry to pick up some money from his vault and Hermione to exchange some Muggle money, they split up to go their separate ways.

'No Knockturn Alley!' Mrs Weasley warned Fred and George.

'Never fear,' Fred said with aplomb.

'We have more important things to do than that,' George added, fingering the stack of order forms he carried. The twins left, grinning with mischievous anticipation, and headed towards Zonko's. Mrs Weasley sighed exasperatedly, and went towards Madam Malkin's with Ginny.

'Let's go to Flourish and Blotts first,' Hermione suggested firmly to Harry and Ron.

'Come on, Hermione, let's go to Quality Quidditch Supplies,' Ron said quickly.

'Ron, you know our school texts are far more important than your broomsticks,' Hermione's scolded.

'But they're so heavy!' Ron complained. 'I don't want to walk around carrying around those books!'

'Stop whingeing,' Hermione said flatly. 'We're going to Flourish and Blotts. Right, Harry?'

Harry looked at his two friends, and attempted to give a neutral shrug. 

They headed for Flourish and Blotts.

'Oooh! Look, Harry,' Hermione pointed inside the bookstore, her eyes lighting up. 'The new Arithmancy book by Pye Fluxions has come out! I've been waiting for it to be released in ages! And look – a revised edition _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_!' Harry watched in amazement as his friend seemed to run towards the books in some far off obscure corner of the bookstore. He wondered how it was that she even noticed them, and went in more slowly with Ron.

'What books do we need,' Ron asked gloomily.

'Er, I don't know. Haven't really checked out the list yet,' Harry said, pulling out the letter.

'There'd better not be a revised edition of _The Monster Book of Monsters_,' Ron said, scowling, but it looked as if it would be safe. There were no cages in the bookstore this time.

With the help of the shop assistant, Harry and Ron were soon laden with their textbooks for fifth year.

'Is Hermione ready yet?' Harry asked, looking around.

'I don't think so,' Ron said, disgruntled. He was quite upset by the new thick book – _Unfogging the Future Book II_ – that was to be used for divination. 'Look, she's still obsessing over that book by Fly Puckson whatever.'

'Pye Fluxions,' Harry corrected absently.

'Whatever. Hey, let's look at the Quidditch books,' Ron said brightly as they neared the Quidditch section of the bookstore.

'Check this out, Ron,' Harry pointed out a book – _Keeper's Knowledge Kracked_.

'Great! Maybe I should get it. Think it'll boost my chances of getting on the Gryffindor team?' Ron asked enthusiastically.

At that moment, an all too familiar voice sounded behind them. 'You're not serious,' the voice drawled. 'Another Weasel on the team? That would make almost half the Gryffindor team poverty-stricken.'

Ron dropped his books at once and spun around, his hand fumbling for his wand, mouth spluttering broken insults. Harry didn't even bother turning. 'Take that back, Malfoy.'

'Potter to the rescue, as usual,' Draco Malfoy said, a derisive sneer on his pale, pointed face.

Harry gave Draco Malfoy a hard stare as he turned finally. 'What do you want?' he asked flatly, one hand on Ron's arm, trying to prevent Ron from thrashing Malfoy into a pulp.

The fifth year Slytherin ignored Harry, instead surveying the shelves, with a certain amount of wicked delight. 'Look, Weasley!' he said mockingly, picking up one of the books. 'Maybe this will be more useful for _you_.' Malfoy handed Ron a yellow and black book – _Dummy's Guide to Staying Alive on the Quidditch Pitch_ by H. Elpme.

Ron snarled furiously when he read the title, but Malfoy had left, snickering.

'One day, one day,' Ron raged as Harry attempted to hold him back.

'I know,' Harry said, promising. 'One day, one day, Malfoy will pay. But, now we'd better drag Hermione away from Pye Fluxions, hadn't we?'

Ron reluctantly agreed, and they went to find Hermione.

'Finished with Mr Fred Plumberson yet?' Ron asked Hermione grumpily.

'Pye Fluxions,' Harry reminded Ron.

Hermione gave a short laugh. 'Most definitely not!' she exclaimed. 'This book is so interesting. I'm getting it,' she said decidedly.

'I thought you only had to get the _Standard Book of Spells Volume V_,' Ron said confused.

'That's the set text,' Hermione said patronisingly. Honestly, Ron could be so thick sometimes. 'This is for me to read in my free time!'

Ron choked.

It was then, Hermione noticed that Harry still had a grip on Ron's arm, and that Ron's face still looked a little red and angry. 'Whatever is the matter?' she asked.

'A run in with Malfoy,' Harry said darkly.

Hermione pursed her lips. 'It was unavoidable I suppose,' she said. 'He does have to come to Diagon Alley too. I do hope he doesn't cause too much trouble this year.' She was still very angry about last year, when Malfoy had been the link with Rita Skeeter, allowing all the very nasty articles about herself and Harry to be published in the _Daily Prophet_.

She picked up the Arithmancy book, and turned to the two boys. 'So, have you two paid yet for that lot?'

'No,' Harry replied.

'Let's go then,' Hermione suggested. Soon, they were headed away from Flourish and Blott, to the relief of Harry and Ron, and reluctance of Hermione. Although Hermione found her bag of books to be heavy (mostly due to the length of Mr Pye Fluxion's publication), she knew better than to complain, since it had been her idea to go to the bookshop first.

'Where to now?' Harry inquired once outside.

'I need to meet Fred and George at two o'clock,' Ron announced. He flushed a little as the other two turned to him in surprise. 'They said they would get me some new dress robes. Apparently,' he added quite proudly, 'they've already made a bit of a profit.'

Hermione noted this with relief, observing the knowing amusement in Harry's green eyes at hearing this information.

'Okay, so we still have some time,' Hermione said. 'Let's get some more school supplies. The apothecary?'

The apothecary it was, and after they obtained more potions ingredients, they went to purchase parchments, quills and inks to work with during the year. When two o'clock came, Harry and Ron went promptly to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, while Hermione decided to go off shopping herself, promising to meet the other two at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in half an hour.

__

Where should she go? she wondered. She needed to get some more food for Crookshanks, and a new bell, but surely she could wait for Harry and Ron to go to the Magical Pet Store. Hermione didn't need to buy school robes – she had outgrown her old ones, but had purchased new ones earlier in the holidays.

Finally, after the minute of deliberation, she set off down the Alley, deciding to just browse past and stop at places of interest. The first place she stopped at was a new charming boutique – Masquerade – where she amused herself by looking at various handbags, scarves, costume jewellery and the like. This bored her though after a few minutes, especially since she did not intend to buy anything there, and the chirpy, high-voiced and air-headed shop assistant became progressively more annoying, so she left the store and continued on.

In a little while, she found a shop that intrigued her. It was old, with windows that were half clouded with the dirt of age. The peeling letters on the window vaguely informed her that it was an Antique Stall, and curiously, Hermione went inside, her entrance announced by a low, soft, yet resonant gong.

Inside, she was surrounded by a veritable treasure trove. There were hundreds of old magical artefacts – nothing extremely valuable or dangerous, but certainly interesting. There were cauldrons, of designs used hundreds of years back, and some of the earlier broomsticks. There were old paintings, vases, and mirrors. And scrolls, books and maps in plenty.

There were few customers, and most were hidden behind the shelves of objects. The store owner, an old wizard with a thin grey beard that reached his knees and dressed in a deep red dressing robe sat at the front of the store, unhurriedly polishing a bronze candlestick.

Hermione went along, looking at the objects, and although she had initially intended not to spend anything, could not resist buying a small vase, made of some sort of rose coloured crystal which a piece of parchment attached had said would emanate an aura of peaceful calm. It would be a lovely present for her mother when Christmas came around. Having bought something for her mother, she had to find something for her father, and presently, found a brilliant paperweight that was shaped like the eye of an Antipodean Opal-eye. Not a real eye of the dragon, it held the shifting colours this dragon was famous for. Fortunately for her, the two items were not too costly.

As she wandered through the books sections, she saw an unusual sight. Draco Malfoy, stood there, flicking through a very large old leather-bound book. The book, she saw quickly, was one on magical beasts, with vivid hand-painted illustrations of these beasts, and amazingly beautiful calligraphy with descriptions and other related information on the beasts.

Although she made no sound, he turned around suddenly, as if some sixth sense had alerted him of her presence.

'Granger,' he gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment.

'Malfoy,' Hermione responded. He didn't _seem_ that antagonistic. Well, not like Harry and Ron had made him out to be. At least the first words out of his mouth had not been mudblood. There was still hope. In the lamp-lit books section of the store, he looked somewhat less menacing than usual. No ugly looking thugs surrounded him, and the pale sharpness of his face was softened in the gentle light. His pale, white-blond hair glinted in the lamp-light, but his grey eyes looking down at her were as hard as ever. He had grown a little too, over the holidays, and looked to be the same height as Harry, and with the same slender build – a seeker's build.

'Lost, are we?' he said smoothly.

Hermione sighed, resignedly. It looked like he was going to be nasty after all.

'No,' she answered snippily. 'Though you must be. I would have thought the shops in Knockturn Alley more your type. You must frequent that unsavoury location often,' she rambled, drawing herself up defensively. 'After all, you must be able to find things to help you behave like the cruel idiot you are. And I'm sure there must also be a bookstore there which sells books on how to describe muggleborns like me, and also on how to behave like a totally Slytherin arrogant snob.' She stopped, fully aware of how little of what she had said made much sense.

'What a creative mind you have,' Malfoy drawled, sounding somewhat amused. 'I suppose you imagine I would like to cuddle up in one of their pubs with a book of Dark magic in one hand, drinking some sort of evil concoction, and talking with a horde of Deatheaters.'

Hermione sniffed, trying not to let on that that had been exactly what she had been thinking. She glanced over to the book he was reading, to see he had left it open at the page on dragons. _How fitting_, she thought wryly considering his name, while admiring the beautiful drawings.

'Your book interesting?' she asked, deciding to drop her admittedly ridiculous discussion about Knockturn Alley.

'Yes,' Malfoy said, without his usual sarcasm. 'Very old. Probably costs a fortune, but I think I'll get it.'

'Why?' Hermione asked automatically.

He idly looked up at her. 'It interests me. We don't have it in the Manor's library.'

'I didn't know you liked Care of Magical Creatures,' Hermione said, stifling a laugh as she thought of Buckbeak and the Blast-ended Skrewts.

'I don't,' Malfoy said candidly. 'I do, however, admire magical creatures very much. The _class _itself is a foolish waste of time. Blast-ended Skrewts,' he snorted.

He picked up the book with his long-fingered hands, and headed to the front of the store to purchase the item. _Well_, Hermione thought wryly. Malfoy had actually seemed civil in that encounter. Not exactly pleasant, but he hadn't made any cutting remarks about her appearance, intelligence, associations, or blood as was usual. Something was definitely amiss with him. Maybe it was puberty, or hormones. They could do that to people sometimes.


	3. Return to Hogwarts

THE MANOR

Chapter 3 – Return to Hogwarts

The week at the Burrow passed all too quickly and before long, they found that they were due to leave for school. They were to take the taxi to King's Cross Station, and there was again the usual confusion on the morning they were to leave.

'Where are they?' Ron moaned as he searched about his room.

'Where are what?' Hermione asked, coming into the room. It was typically messy, with both Harry and Ron's trunks thrown open as they desperately packed.

'My dress robes!' Ron said, startling Pig as he shifted the bird in an effort to see underneath him. 'Fred and George will kill me if they think I've lost them!'

'Well that's your fault isn't it,' Hermione said righteously as she helped Ron search. 'If you had packed everything away when you came back from Diagon Alley maybe you wouldn't be in this mess.'

'While you're looking,' Harry said sheepishly, from underneath his camp bed. 'Tell me if you see my spare quills.'

Hermione gave them both looks that told them they were hopeless, and then helped them discover the missing items. After about twenty minutes, punctuated by frequent calls from Mrs Weasley of 'where are you! Ronald Weasley!' they were finally ready to leave.

They hurriedly ran down the stairs, dragging their trunks along behind them, and landed with a thump on the bottom floor whereupon they dashed out, and loaded their luggage into the taxis. There were two taxis, and the taxi drivers looked more than a little bewildered to see the owls (after all, who has a pet owl?) as they all piled into the taxis. Bill came with them to help his mum see them off.

'Thank goodness we made it out of the house,' Hermione said, with a relieved sigh as she sank into the back seat of one of the taxis with Ron and Harry.

'We might be late,' Ron said worriedly, looking at the taxi's clock. His mother had rather shrilly scolded him for being so completely unorganised. 'And we don't have a flying car this time,' he said seriously.

Bill, catching his brother's comments, winked at them from his front-seat with the taxi driver, and Hermione could definitely make out some muttering as he gripped his wand in his pocket.

The taxi left the Burrow, and they settled back for the trip to the station. 'Mum's really getting nervy,' Ron observed quietly. That was true. Mrs Weasley was usually a nervous wreck when getting her kids out of the house and to Hogwarts, but this morning it seemed more excessive than usual. She had spilt her tea when drinking, and had come close to slicing her thumb off when making their packed lunches. In the past week, her nerves had been strung up.

'Why?' Harry asked curiously.

'Re-elections for Minister of Magic,' Ron answered.

'Haven't you read the Daily Prophet recently?' Hermione asked Harry in surprise.

Harry shook his head, cluelessly. He knew nothing about the wizarding world while he was with the Dursleys, and the paper, usually read during breakfast, was always taken by somebody else. 

'Cornelius Fudge's term will be over in a month, and although everyone thought Fudge would be re-elected, it seems that Professor Dumbledore is encouraging Mr Weasley to run for it.'

'Good,' Harry said, pleased. 'Fudge was hopeless,' he added remembering what had happened in his fourth year. Fudge was a weak leader, easily swayed by the media and public desire.

'Yeah,' Ron said moodily. 'Dumbledore forced him to.'

'Forced?' Hermione asked doubtfully.

'Well, it was more like he told Dad he can return to his old job if he really wants after the whole mess has finished, but to think of the magic community in this time of stress, or something along those lines and to think of his duty and responsibility as a wizard,' Ron corrected a little vaguely. Under the gloominess, he sounded proud though that Albus Dumbledore had such trust in his father.

'Who else is running for Minister of Magic?' Harry enquired.

The other two made faces.

'Fudge, of course, but also Lucius Malfoy,' Hermione supplied Harry with the information.

'The git,' Ron said angrily.

'We could have a Death-Eater as the Minister of Magic?' Harry said alarmed.

'Lucius Malfoy would be tough to beat,' Hermione added, concerned. 'There are so many people in his pocket.'

'And he has the money,' Harry realised, with a sinking heart.

'Yeah, well we would too if it weren't for the fact that dad was so damn obsessed with those bloody Muggle artefacts,' Ron said furiously. Hermione didn't even bother scolding his language – she felt rather strongly about this as well.

'Well even if your dad had the money, he wouldn't use it like Malfoy's dad does,' Harry pointed out reasonably. 'Your dad's decent.'

Ron gave a weak grin. 'Thanks, mate.'

As Hermione had expected, the taxis arrived just on time at Kings Cross Station, with Bill's magical interference. They bolted out and burst through the barriers onto the crowded Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Swiftly, they stowed their trunks onto the train, and finding a compartment for themselves, went back out to say good bye.

'Take care of yourselves,' Mrs Weasley said, a tear in her eye, as she hugged her children, and Harry and Hermione goodbye.

'We will, mum,' Ginny assured her.

'Don't go looking for trouble!' Mrs Weasley said firmly. 'Just do your study and Quidditch and that's it!'

'We'll try not to,' Ron said, half a smile on his face. Mrs Weasley frowned enormously, but then gave her son another hug.

'Sometimes I don't know who I worry more about, you and Harry and Hermione, or Fred and George,' she muttered. Ron, Harry and Hermione gave each other guilty grins. They didn't _mean_ to get into trouble, unlike Fred and George.

'I'll probably see you lot soon,' Bill said as a farewell.

'Why?' Ron asked surprised. 'You never mentioned it.'

'Dumbledore just wrote yesterday. It's as part of your Defense Against the Dark Arts course. As you may expect, they've increased the amount of time put into that particular area of study,' he said ironically. He gave them a smile. 'Have some fun,' he said, and Apparated from the station.

'What'd Bill be teaching us?' Ron mused as they boarded the train quickly.

'Curse-breaking, I expect,' Hermione replied matter-of-factly. Bill had worked as a curse-breaker for Gringotts.

'That should be useful,' Harry noted.

The train began to move and they sat down in their chosen compartment.

'Blimey, Hermione,' Ron suddenly realised. 'Shouldn't you be up the front with the prefects?'

Hermione blinked, she had completely forgotten. Earlier in the holidays she had received a letter from Hogwarts telling her she had been selected as one of the fifth year prefects. She had told Harry and Ron during her stay in the Burrow, and they had been delighted for her, although they warned her that she had not better report their modifications of the school rules.

'I suppose I should,' Hermione said, reluctant to leave her friends, yet eager to find out who were the other prefects. She left them, and went towards the Prefect compartments, which were always near the front of the train.

'Hermione!' a familiar voice greeted her.

'Neville!' Hermione said, with some surprise. The round-faced boy wore a silvery prefect badge on his black robes, and appeared to have grown somewhat taller. He did not seem quite so small now for some odd reason.

'Are you going up the front?' Neville asked nervously.

Hermione was still recovering from her shock. Neville, the other Gryffindor prefect? A moment of reflection made her realise though that this was probably a very good idea on the part of the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. Making Neville a prefect might give him the confidence that he so clearly lacked. 

'Yes,' Hermione answered him, and they made it swiftly to the front of the train, her curiosity growing along the way. There were twenty-four prefects in total at Hogwarts, with eight in each year (fifth to seventh). Hermione wondered who the other prefects would be, as she would obviously be working with them during the year.

She looked around now.

'Hi, Hermione,' Justin Finch-Fletchley grinned at her. Hermione smiled. Justin was quite nice, although just a little stand-offish during the whole Hufflepuff-Gryffindor rivalry last year because of the Triwizard tournament. He had been chatting to Susan Bones, another fifth year Hufflepuff. Hermione nodded sagely. That choice was probably wise, although she did not know Susan very well. The Bones were a great wizarding family, although Susan's parents had been murdered by Voldemort. She had read about them in _An Appraisal of Modern Magic_.

Hermione cast her eyes away from the two Hufflepuffs. She noticed, with some surprise, that Chaser Katie Bell was a Gryffindor prefect, something she had never noticed before. She recognised the fifth year Ravenclaw prefects – Mandy Brocklehurst and Ralph Davies, both of whom she liked very much. Then, her jaw dropped, as she looked at the Slytherin prefects – one she knew only by name and sight, Blaise Zabini. The other, draped indolently over a compartment seat near her, was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Maybe the shock made her react rather strongly. That is, to overreact. 'How did you get to become a Prefect?' Hermione asked coldly, as he glanced over at her with derision. 'Your father's money?'

'I'm hurt. Didn't you even consider the fact that I might have been chosen because of my merits?' Malfoy drawled.

'You?' Hermione looked disbelieving. 'Have merits?'

'Just because I'm affluently well-off doesn't mean I am completely lacking in any brains or sense whatsoever, Granger,' he said coolly. 'I am wondering how _you_, a Mudblood could become a Prefect. I'm sure your selection will be a great shock to the entire school, and wizarding community.'

He looked deliberately away from Hermione, to see Neville coming in. '_Longbottom_?' The expression of shock and disbelief that crossed his face made Hermione feel like chuckling. 'Are you quite sure you're on the right carriage?'

'Stand up to him,' Hermione muttered encouragingly.

Neville's face held struggling, conflicting emotions – of fear, and a determination to be brave, when he relaxed suddenly, to both Hermione and Malfoy's surprise. 'Quite sure, Malfoy,' Neville said easily, doing a very good job at being brave. He hadn't finished yet though. 'Are you sure _you're _on the right carriage?'

The surprise faded, and disdain settled onto Malfoy's face as he turned his back purposefully on them.

'Good on you, Neville,' Hermione said, overjoyed with the usually frightened boy's suddenly courage.

Malfoy didn't back away that quickly though. 'Granger, you might want to tell the Weasel that my father was voted the most likely future Minister in a popularity poll,' Malfoy hissed softly as she went past him.

'There's still a month,' Hermione snapped back at once, defensively. 'And where was that poll taken, Malfoy?' she asked scornfully. 'Knockturn Alley?'

Malfoy's pale eyes flashed. 'I thought I had already made it clear I do not frequent that place,' he said, voice low, yet intense with feeling.

'That doesn't mean your father doesn't,' Hermione retorted. 

Malfoy's pale face turned even whiter, then red. 'How would _you_ know what my father does, Mudblood?' he spat.

'Does it matter, Pureblood?' Hermione drew the word out into an insult. They glared at each other, not breaking their angry eye contact, until a sixth year Ravenclaw Prefect behind them coughed loudly, in an attempt to move past them.

Hermione and Neville went to sit near the Hufflepuffs.

'Mum was over the moon when I became a Prefect,' Justin told them, grinning. 'The only thing that annoyed her was that she couldn't really boast about it to the family and friends she knew, because they're all Muggles and if she even mentioned that her son were a Prefect, they would ask at once "what school?" '

Hermione laughed a little. Her mother had experienced the exact same problem – any pride in her daughter's achievements had to be kept quiet or it would arouse a certain undesirable interest. She remembered the time one holiday when her mother had boasted that Hermione had come top in her grade. Her mother's friend had asked what subjects Hermione did, and what school Hermione attended. It took a bit of lying on Hermione's part to cover that up, especially when Hermione first mentioned that she attended a school her mother's friend's niece apparently attended.

'My grandmother was really happy that I became a Prefect,' Neville admitted.

'Mine too,' Susan Bones said shyly. She was a fairly short girl with two long dark brown plaits.

'Your grandmother?' Neville asked, startled.

'Yes. I live with her,' Susan said, flushing slightly.

'Oh,' Neville nodded, but his attitude towards Susan changed considerably after this incident. It appeared they had some common ground.

At about noon, Hermione realised that Neville was perfectly comfortable chatting with the two Hufflepuffs, and that she wouldn't really be missed. Having had enough of the stuffy Prefect compartments, she left them and arrived at Harry and Ron's compartment just as they were purchasing food from the food witch.

' 'ermione!' Ron said through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty. ' 'ere, 'ave one of theesh,' he tossed her another pasty which she gratefully accepted.

Harry swallowed, before speaking. 'Who were the other prefects?'

Hermione took a bite of her pasty first before answering. 'Okay, the other Gryffindor prefect is Neville –' 

Bits of pasty emanated from Ron's mouth as he attempted to stop himself from laughing.

'Neville?' Ron asked incredulously.

Hermione nodded, immediately coming to the shy boy's defence. 'It's good for him, I think,' she said at once. 'He's more confident.'

'If you say so,' Ron said doubtfully.

'And then, the other houses,' she said, taking another bite of pasty. 'For Hufflepuff there's Justin Finch-Fletchley and Susan Bones, for Ravenclaw Mandy Brocklehurst and Ralph Davies and for Slytherin, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy.'

She said the last name casually, anticipating the reaction from her audience.

'What?' Ron choked on his pasty, face going purple

'Malfoy?' Harry spluttered simultaneously on his cauldron cake. He recovered more quickly. 'Please say this is some sick joke,' Harry said pleadingly while Ron coughed.

Hermione grimaced. 'It's sad, but true,' she said gravely, at the expressions of outrage on her friend's faces. She wondered then, why Harry hadn't been chosen as a Prefect. He was smart (well, relatively), brave and good. An all-round hero filled with morals. Although Hermione didn't really let Harry know, she admired Harry very much. She knew though, that admiration put him off (as in the case of the Creevey brothers), and also knew it could potentially make him rather big-headed and arrogant, which she would rather prevent at all costs.

'Malfoy can take points off people,' Ron paled with the realisation.

'_I_ can take points off people,' Hermione pointed out.

'But you won't, will you, unless they deserve it,' Ron argued. Hermione felt rather flattered at his trust in her. 'Malfoy won't have any scruples about reducing the Gryffindor point score to nil.'

'He'd lose his Prefect position, if he abused his duties,' Hermione protested. There had to be some sort of order in the world.

'No way. Lucius Malfoy would just buy his son's way in again,' Harry said, shaking his head gloomily as if doomsday had just been announced.

Hermione thought they were overdoing it. Sure, she was not happy that Malfoy was also a Prefect, but it couldn't be _that _bad. 'Hey, at least it's Blaise Zabini, not Pansy Parkinson for the other Slytherin prefect,' Hermione said jokingly.

The two boys looked rather green. 'Pansy would be way worse,' Harry said fervently.

'Although, I suppose poor Pansy is upset she won't be always around her boyfriend to keep him under control,' Ron smirked, grinning. It was no secret that Pansy Parkinson openly fancied Draco Malfoy, and had, after all, succeeded in taking him to the Yule Ball last year.

'I don't think I would have been able to stand Pansy Parkinson simpering at Malfoy all throughout Prefect meetings,' Hermione added. The very thought made her shudder. How anybody could even look with vacant-eyed admiration at Malfoy was beyond her.

The train trip was surprisingly peaceful, with no interruptions at all from Malfoy and his goonies – Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Hermione supposed the reason for this peacefulness was due to Malfoy being closeted off in the stuffy prefect compartments.

Pansy Parkinson did poke her head into their compartment, asking sulkily if anyone had seen Malfoy. Hermione had to kick both Harry and Ron to keep them from sniggering out loud in the pug-faced girl's face.

The other Gryffindors visited the compartment. Ginny stopped by for a while to play a game of Exploding Snap. Seamus and Dean came knocking a couple of hours after lunch with their girlfriends (Lavender and Parvati), whereupon they spent rather a long time groaning about Malfoy's prefect-hood, the possibilities for Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, whether Snape would finally get the job, and what was going to happen with Quidditch this year. Colin Creevey came past with his little brother Dennis, causing Harry to hide behind Ron and Hermione as he shrank into the corner, trying to avoid adoration from two of his admiring fans. Fred, George and Lee Jordan came by too, but failed to entice either Harry, Ron or Hermione to test their new products. They had learnt last year to regard anything given to them by the Weasley twins with caution.

Finally, the Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade Station, and the students all piled off the train.

'Firs' years! Firs' years!' the call of Hagrid made Harry, Ron and Hermione run towards him although none of them were first years.

'Hagrid!' Harry greeted the huge gamekeeper who was part giant.

'Well, it's the lot o' ye back again,' Hagrid boomed, pleased to see them. 'Alrigh' there, Harry?' he asked, voice gentler and quieter.

Harry nodded, although Hermione shot him a concerned look. Hermione hadn't forgotten Ginny's concern about the Boy-Who-Lived, and hadn't dared to ask him anything directly lately, knowing how he hated having people fussing over him.

'Well then, I'll meet yer all at th' feast,' Hagrid beamed. 'Have t' tell yer all abou' my summer!'

The three winked at each other. They knew Hagrid had gone of somewhere during the summer with 'his Olympe,' the part-giant headmistress of Beauxbatons, a French wizarding academy.

Taking the horseless carriages, they soon arrived at Hogwarts, and hurrying inside, settled themselves comfortably on the Gryffindor table in the brightly lit Great Hall.

'I'm hungry,' Ron said, massaging his stomach.

'Big surprise,' Hermione shot back. Ron had grown a lot during the holidays, and now was more than half a head taller than Harry, who wasn't exactly short either. However, Hermione didn't bother arguing with Ron – she was too busy scanning the head table where the staff sat.

'Sinistra, Flitwick, Vector –' she muttered.

'What's up?' Harry asked, surprised.

'I want to find out who's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,' Hermione explained shortly, as she resumed her observations. Harry and Ron turned to look too.

'Fleur!' Ron exclaimed in a more than delighted tone of voice.

'Fleur Delacour?' Hermione's tone of voice on the other hand was more than a little less delighted.

'She did say she wanted to take a job here,' Ron said, grinning enthusiastically.

'She's hardly qualified,' Hermione argued. 'She's pathetic at Defence Against the Dark Arts. Look at the way she dealt with the Grindylows last year – we learnt about _them_ in third year!'

But sure enough, Fleur Delacour was there, a confident smile on her part-Veela face. Hermione shook her head.

'No. It can't be her, and put your eyes back in your face, Ronald Weasley,' she said tartly. 'You too, Harry.'

The two boys blinked. 

'It must be that old lady at the end,' Hermione said in conclusion. 'Look,' she jerked her head in the direction of her gaze.

Harry and Ron turned to look.

'Mrs Figg!' Harry said, voice one of shock.

'What?' Hermione and Ron said simultaneously.

'That's her! Mrs Figg!' Harry said, confused. 'She lives near the Dursleys and owns too many cats. She looks after me sometimes when the Dursleys go away and don't want to leave me at their home by myself. I wonder what she's doing here.' Harry's face was confused and shocked.

'Maybe she's here to babysit ickle Harrykins,' Ron joked, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

'Shut up, Ron,' Harry said, embarrassed.

'Mrs Figg, Mrs Figg …' Hermione repeated the name to herself. For some reason, it nagged at her, and then it hit her. 'Arabella Figg!' she said triumphantly.

'What?' Harry gave her an odd look.

Hermione realised she had spoken the name rather loudly, having attracted the attention of more than a few Gryffindors near them, and flushed. 'Arabella Figg,' she repeated in a lower voice. 'Remember what Dumbledore told Sirius to do at the end of the term? He told him to gather the "old crowd." Like Remus Lupin, Mundungus Fletcher and _Arabella Figg_.'

'That's her?' Ron asked.

'Yes,' Hermione said, nodding her head vigorously. 'I looked them up after Dumbledore mentioned them – Mundungus Fletcher and Arabella Figg. She was a very famous Auror, you know, Harry. Although she retired a couple of years after Voldemort's defeat.'

Ron gave a low whistle, impressed. 'So you had this famous Auror guarding you in Privet Drive, Harry?'

Hermione nodded. 'It looks like it. That must be why Dumbledore keeps insisting on having you staying with the Dursleys.'

Harry looked more than a little awed.

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall opened and the new first years trooped down the centre towards the front of the hall where the Sorting Hat had been taken out. The Sorting Ceremony was about to begin.

Hermione watched, noting with interest the new little Gryffindors who she welcomed warmly in her duty as a Prefect. She couldn't help noticing that, astonishingly, Draco Malfoy was also attempting to present a friendly face to the new Slytherin students. His face was still slightly sneering, yet without malice or ill intent, and, she reflected, was probably quite welcoming for a Slytherin.

The new first years chattered and giggled nervously, and seemed suitably impressed by their female prefect, and adequately frightened of Fred and George after one of them tried the twins' now famous Canary Creams.

The Ceremony finished, and Dumbledore rose for his opening speech.

'I would like to welcome you all back to a fresh year at Hogwarts,' Dumbledore announced, a benevolent look on his face. 'I would like to remind everybody to take care of themselves this year,' he said, a little gravely.

Everybody was momentarily silent as they remembered Cedric Diggory who had died last year.

'On matters of lighter note, I would remind you that the Forbidden Forrest is out of bounds,' Dumbledore said firmly. 'Hogsmeade is too, for those below third year.'

'What's Hogsmeade?' one of the first years whispered to Hermione.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but Fred spoke first.

'It's a slaughter house. They kill hogs there, hence the name, and then they use the hogs' blood and brains to make this alcoholic beverage,' Fred said, voice serious, eyes laughing.

'This drink, aside from being capable of making you drunk in two seconds flat, will also cause the drinker to grow the tail of a pig,' George added, as solemn as his brother.

'But it's lots of fun,' Fred finished cheerfully.

The first year's eyes, which had widened progressively, turned, terrified, back to their Headmaster, while Hermione glared at the grinning twins. 

'Quidditch tournament restarts this year,' Dumbledore noted, a twinkle in his eye when cheering came from all quarters of the Hall. 'Trials for those will be during this weekend, for more details see your Housemasters.'

He paused, then smiled. 'We have two new members of staff this year to introduce. Firstly, Miss Fleur Delacour.'

As everyone looked at her, Hermione noted the number of boys who dropped empty glasses, jaws dropped, fell of their seats etc.

'Miss Delacour, as you may have remembered, spent some time here last year as a Triwizard champion. She will be an assistant professor this year at Hogwarts. I hope you will all make her welcome.'

There was clapping (and catcalls).

'Our other new member of staff is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Could you all please welcome Professor Arabella Figg.'

The students clapped, some more vigorously than others as some recognised her as the famous Auror who had gone into retirement.

Arabella Figg stood up, and smiled. She was a fairly old lady, short, with snowy white hair that was tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck, and snapping black eyes that looked extremely energetic. Those black eyes glancing around the hall found Harry, and the old lady winked. Harry grinned back at the spry old Auror. For some reason, he felt even more comforted at her presence.

Dumbledore said a few more brief words and the food appeared on the tables as the Welcome Feast began. Their fifth year at Hogwarts had truly begun.


	4. Figg and Pegasus

THE MANOR

I forgot to disclaim. How tragic. One must, after all, keep up with pointless tradition …

Disclaimer: This all belongs to JKR, one of the richest women in the world, which I am most definitely not.

Chapter 4 – Figg and Pegasus

Hermione woke up with a jolt. She had just had a rather disconcerting dream, because it had featured nothing, except for warm, glowing, golden light. Rather peculiar, she frowned, as she sat up in her four-poster, velvet, red-curtained bed.

A thud landed on her lap, and Hermione smiled. 'Good morning, Crookshanks. Had your breakfast yet?'

Crookshanks purred as Hermione stroked him, which she took to be an affirmation of her question. Glancing over, she could see that the bowl which Crookshanks ate from had been filled by the house-elves … and emptied by the orange furball.

She gave Crookshanks one last pat on the head, then stood up. Hermione looked at her clock. It was already half past seven. She had meant to do some History homework before going to breakfast. That seemed unlikely now, since breakfast was at eight. Hermione changed quickly, then hurriedly woke the other girls who were all sleeping soundly.

Lavender yawned widely. 'What's the time,' she asked, voice slurred from sleep.

'Quarter to eight,' Hermione replied.

Lavender groaned. 'I'll skip breakfast,' she said, and burrowed into her blankets.

'That's not healthy,' Hermione said sharply. Her extremely health-conscious dentist parents had always forbidden Hermione from skipping breakfast.

'I don't care,' Lavender said sleepily. 

One of the other girls rose lethargically, but the others kept on sleeping. 

Hermione shrugged. She had done her best waking them, so she might as well leave now.

Putting her books into her book satchel, she skipped downstairs to the Great Hall. She was starving, for some peculiar reason, and sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Harry and Ron who were all awake.

Ron was staring at their timetables, which they had received a couple days ago, in disgust.

'Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin again this year,' he said. 'Right after Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

'That'll be interesting,' Harry said eagerly. He was looking forward to talking to Arabella Figg.

'Care of Magical Creatures?' Ron said, horrified.

'No, Defence Against the Dark Arts,' Harry corrected.

'Yeah, but after Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin?' Ron said, stuffing his timetable into his bag.

'It's not as awful as me,' Hermione pointed out. 'I have Arithmancy after that. With Slytherins too.'

'I know,' Harry sympathised. Hermione had already moaned loudly about this subject several times.

'I mean,' Hermione continued, warming to the topic, 'what was wrong in having Gryffindors with the Ravenclaws? I liked that perfectly well. But instead, now they have to shove us with the Slytherins.'

'You have the Hufflepuffs too,' Ron said helpfully.

Hermione gave him a freezing glare. 'There are two people in Hufflepuff doing Arithmancy. That's why they're combining Gryffindor, Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Because all of us combined makes less than the total amount of Ravenclaws taking Arithmancy.'

'You'll survive,' Ron said buoyantly.

'Maybe Malfoy doesn't do Arithmancy,' Harry suggested.

'Maybe,' Hermione said doubtfully. 'I think he did it last year. I once saw him carrying an Arithmancy text book.'

'He could have quit,' Ron pointed out.

'Maybe,' Hermione said dubiously. She let out a long sigh, and began eating her porridge.

'Help,' she murmured, to no one in particular.

Their breakfast was finished quickly, and they went to Defence Against the Dark Arts eagerly. Harry was virtually hopping in his excitement. He looked happier than he had been for days.

The class assembled inside the room, and in a few moments, Professor Arabella Figg swept into the room.

'Good morning,' she said brightly. She didn't sound very much like an old lady – her voice was strong and somewhat forceful.

'Good morning,' the class muttered back.

She leant against the desk. 'I am Arabella Figg, in case you weren't listening at your opening feast. I'll be your main teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, and hopefully for the next two years as well.' Arabella Figg crossed her arms, and regarded the class. 'You can call me Professor Figg, or, if you prefer,' and she grinned, black eyes dancing mischievously, 'Mrs Figg.'

Harry gave a small smile from where he sat.

'This year,' Professor Figg continued, 'you'll have a bit of an updated Defence Against the Dark Arts course, in light of recent events. You need to be able to protect yourselves, and you haven't exactly received a completely thorough education in this area. From what I've gathered, you had Professor Quirrell in your first year, and learnt close to nothing,' she calmly criticised.

'Then, you had Professor Lockhart in your second year, and also learnt nothing, _except_,' she consulted the piece of paper she held, 'that you should never go mucking about with Cornish pixies.'

The class chuckled.

'In your third year, you had Professor Lupin. Lupin's a good sort,' Arabella Figg grinned. 'So you actually learnt something from him. However, as your third year course was centred on dark creatures, you didn't really learn anything except for how to deal with dark creatures, who aren't really that terrible in your third year anyway. Nothing big, like banshees, or dementors,' she grinned.

'In your fourth year, you had an erratic mix of Alastor Moody and Barty Crouch Jnr,' Professor Figg growled.

'In conclusion, your learning is woefully incomplete.'

Hermione glowed to hear this conclusion. It was clear that Defence Against the Dark Arts would involve some serious learning this year, and anything to do with serious learning thrilled Hermione to bits.

'You have two one hour lessons and one two hour lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts a week,' Professor Figg continued, as a couple of people groaned. 'This workload will be added to for fifth years and above. By the time you take your O.W.L.s, you will know so much, that they will be easy. Commencing in October, you will also have extra "specialist" courses, with guest teachers. These take place one evening a week. The evening lessons will be taken jointly with another house.'

Hermione, excited at the idea of specialist courses, turned to look at Harry and Ron, who shrugged, not terribly excited.

'Gryffindor has been paired with Slytherin for those evening sessions.'

All three shut their eyes in horror. Defence Against the Dark Arts in the same class as Slytherin? That was about the same as giving the Gryffindors a death sentence.

Hermione raised a hand. 'Who will some of those specialist teachers be?' she asked hopefully.

'Remus Lupin and the real Alastor Moody will be coming. Lupin will be teaching you about defending yourself against Dementors mainly, and Alastor'll be telling you all about the Auror profession, and what you should do should you come face to face with a Dark wizard,' Professor Figg said. There were cheers. 'Bill Weasley,' her black eyes flickered to Ron knowingly, 'will also be making an appearance, first. There are others as well.'

'Now!' Arabella Figg startled them all, with her clap of her hand. 'Let us take the roll!'

The spry old woman nimbly lifted her feet over the desk she had been half-sitting on, and sat behind her desk, calmly, with a pen in hand over a list of the fifth-year class. She began taking a roll.

'We'll get to see my brothers,' Ron said, in a pleased undertone to his friends.

'And Professor Lupin,' Hermione added happily. 'We'll learn how to do a Patronus!'

'It'd be good to see Professor Lupin again,' Harry conceded, smiling.

'A Patronus though is very advanced magic. Professor Dumbledore must think well of us if he thinks we could handle a Patronus, or to even let us attempt it,' Hermione noted shrewdly.

'I can do it,' Harry quietly reasoned.

'Yeah, but you're the Boy Who Lived, you know, you beat off "Avada Kedvara" and all that stuff,' Ron pointed out, rolling his eyes. 'In other words, you're not exactly your average fifteen-year old wizard.'

The list was finished soon, and the lesson was spent with the class learning about cursed objects, and how to identify them. At the end of the interesting class, Harry, Ron and Hermione lingered behind as the others went out.

'Harry!' Arabella Figg, who had been wiping the black board, put down the duster, and embraced the surprised boy. 'How have you been doing?'

'I'm alright, Mrs Figg,' Harry unconsciously kept his old form of address, something that Arabella Figg, judging by the amused sparkle in her black eyes, did not miss. 'You never told me you were a witch,' he accused.

'And worry you further, Harry?' Professor Figg asked, grinning.

'Do you really live in Privet Drive?' Harry asked, curiously.

'Larks, yes,' the old woman said, nodding her head vigorously. 'I married a man – George Figg, who's a muggle, and he'd been living in Privet Drive for a while. He's dead now, poor old George.'

'I'm sorry,' Harry said. Then, curiously, 'Do you really like cats that much?' He made a face.

She laughed loudly. 'Yes, yes! Cats are brilliant creatures. So much cleaner than dogs.'

'How are Tigg and Tegg?' Harry asked politely. Those two cats had been injured in the holidays, and he had seen them in Mrs Figg's car being taken to the vet.

'Those two rascals are very well, thanks for asking, Harry,' her eyes dancing with laughter. The old Auror dropped the trivial, light conversation. 'Harry, are you okay?' Those black eyes were probing. Nothing would escape their firm truthfulness.

Harry turned his eyes away. 'I'm fine,' he said casually.

Hermione frowned. He was clearly _not _fine.

'Look, Harry, if anything ever goes wrong, feel free to tell me. If you can't reach Dumbledore, or if you just want to tell somebody, tell me,' Arabella Figg repeated urgently. 'You must keep yourself safe.'

Harry nodded, avoiding her direct gaze, and the three left the classroom.

'Are you alright, Harry?' Hermione asked him softly.

'What?' Harry asked, as if caught in a daze. 'I'm fine,' he waved off her concern.

Hermione's frown deepened.

Although they were a little late to Care of Magical Creatures, it didn't seem to matter, since Hagrid was still cleaning up some vomit left by a student from the previous third year class. The fifth year Gryffindor and Slytherin students were gathered near Hagrid's hut. Most were sitting on the fence, and behaving like six-year old children. Hermione noticed that Malfoy was leaning casually back on the fence, his two goons busy stuffing their faces with Droobles bubble gum.

Hagrid was finally finished.

'Greetin's,' he said, his face holding a broad grin, as he nodded to Harry, Ron and Hermione. 'You're now in yer fifth year at 'ogwarts, so that means you'll be takin' yer O.W.L.s,' he said, grinning. The class groaned. It was, Hermione reflected, a sort of tradition for students to groan at the mention of extra work. It would be kind of wrong if they didn't groan, even if they didn't mean it.

'Th' O.W.L.s aren't that 'ard in this subject, but there will be a written side to it all,' Hagrid continued. There were more groans at that. 'Half yer O.W.L.s mark will come from yer reports on th' various creatures we study. The other half comes from your exam. Th' practical side of th' exam will be easy,' Hagrid beamed. 'All yer have t' do, is usually to feed a specific creature, or some other special thing. We'll be coverin' that this year.'

'Sounds like we'll have to work this year,' Ron observed glumly. Care of Magical Creatures was usually very relaxing and easy.

'Any questions?' Hagrid asked them.

Nobody said anything.

'Good. We'll start today's lesson. Thought I might start th' year off wi' a bang,' Hagrid grinned, rubbing his hands together. The class exchanged worried looks. The last time Hagrid had started a lesson with a bang he'd brought in creatures that had been part-lion, part-eagle, part-horse. 'Today, we'll be lookin' at winged horses,' Hagrid said. 'If you'll all come about the back, we'll be able t' take a look at them.'

The class moved around the back, with an odd mixture of excitement ('flying horses!'), and, as was wise in this class, fear.

'Hagrid's not going to make us fly them, is he?' Dean muttered as he went around.

Harry wasn't sure anyone should make any promises about that.

They came to a smallish paddock, where the students gaped in awe to see four, large and rather magnificent, winged horses standing regally. They were impressively big, with their feathered wings folded precisely. One horse stretched his wings, making the class 'ooh' in excitement. Loose ropes around their necks, attached to the fences, ensured they did not fly away.

'These are Aethonans,' Hagrid pointed at two chestnut horses – one male, one female. 'They're more common in Britain and Ireland,' he added. Then, he pointed to a slim, grey winged horse. 'This is a Granian.' And finally, gesturing to a gigantic palomino that regarded them from startlingly clear blue eyes, 'an' this is an Abraxan.'

Hagrid turned to the students. 'There's another breed as well, can anybody tell me abou' them?' he asked.

Hermione's hand shot up, and she was surprised to see Malfoy's hand also rise lazily.

Hagrid looked suspiciously at Malfoy. 'Malfoy?' he asked the pale boy.

'Thestrals. They're black, and they can turn invisible, which makes them much harder to track down,' Malfoy replied accurately.

'That's righ',' Hagrid said, grudgingly.

Harry, Hermione and Ron though were staring at Malfoy. Since when had he co-operated in Hagrid's classes. Hang that, since when had Malfoy co-operated in any class?

'However, 'cause they're so 'ard to track down, lots of folk think th' Thestrals are like bad luck or summat,' Hagrid added. Lavender and Parvati gasped in horror.

'Like the Grim,' Ron whispered to Harry and Hermione.

'Nonsense,' Hermione scorned. She was not of the superstitious sort.

'Alrigh', we'll be dividin' into four groups so you'll all get a chance to come over and meet 'em without scaring them out of their wits. Don' all cluster about one of 'em. Be polite,' he added. The trio smiled, remembering how the Hippogriffs had also demanded politeness and respect from the students.

'Hagrid,' Lavender asked, face pale. 'What's the worst these horses can do?'

'They can kick a bit,' Hagrid admitted, 'and maybe bite a bit.' The students approaching the winged horses backed away alarmed. 'But be polite an' no 'arm'll come t' ye,' he said hastily. 'Don' provoke them,' he finished, giving Malfoy a hard look.

Hermione looked at her two friends, who both shrugged, and together they moved towards the winged horses.

'Harry, Hermione, Ron, keep an eye on Malfoy, alrigh', an' keep 'im out of trouble,' Hagrid muttered as they passed him.

'No problems,' Hermione assured the half-giant. The three reluctantly looked about for Malfoy and his cronies.

Hermione spied Draco Malfoy's white-blond head, and swallowed nervously. He was approaching the Abraxan, which was clearly the largest of all, yet was standing in a corner of the highly fenced paddock, rope slack as it made no attempt to join the other horses near the centre, where most of the students had congregated. 

'What's he doing?' Harry had clearly also noticed Malfoy approaching the large, winged palomino.

Hermione and Ron looked equally concerned by Malfoy's behaviour, and the three went over to him.

Malfoy, by now, was standing right in front of the Abraxan, his grey eyes staring right into the Abraxan's peculiar blue eyes. The near white horse was still, and did not move, and the two almost appeared to be communicating in some strangely silent way.

'Malfoy, what're you doing?' Harry demanded of the Slytherin.

Draco Malfoy didn't move, but kept his stance. 'Don't worry, Potter,' he said almost absently. 'I'm not trying to get your precious gatekeeper fired.'

'Huh?' Ron looked completely confused.

He didn't respond, but moved forward, and placed one pale hand near the Abraxan's nose. The horse sniffed.

'Is he using _Imperius_ or something?' Ron asked Harry, who was frowning.

'I don't know if that curse can be used on an animal,' Harry said. 'Can it?'

'I dunno,' Ron said, scratching his red head. 'Hermione?'

Hermione though had blocked out their conversation, all her attention on Draco Malfoy and the Pegasus. They looked so incredibly focused, eyes on each other, when suddenly the blond boy slipped the rope off from about the horse's neck and leapt lightly onto the winged horse's back.

'What?' Harry and Ron both exclaimed in shock.

Hermione moved closer, just as the horse sprang into the air, large wings moving powerfully, the Slytherin boy perched on its broad back. The rest of the class gasped, as they realised what was happening, with Hagrid's jaw dropping quite a wide distance.

Hermione couldn't help admiring the figure the horse and boy cut in the air. Both moved together with an innate grace, and their colouring matched admirably. The horse's coat and the boy's hair gleamed in the sunlight, casting what looked like an almost unearthly golden glow about them. With the aid of a quick spell, Hermione's enhanced eyes could just make out his face, so high up as it was, yet from what she could see, it was startlingly alight with a wild sort of exuberation, one hand punching the air as the other clutched the Abraxan's long, thick mane of hair.

Then, with what looked like reluctance, he turned the horse downwards, and spiralling, the horse landed majestically, shining white wings slowing its descent as it regally regarded the silent, shocked students.

Draco Malfoy slipped off the horse, and patting it affectionately, turned to face the class. His face was once more cool and indifferent, and one eyebrow was raised arrogantly.

'What did yer think you were doin'?' Hagrid roared, breaking the tense silence.

Malfoy turned slightly to the giant, irate teacher, his face completely expressionless. 'Is there a problem?' he asked calmly, even urbanely.

Hagrid looked lost for words, then raged on. 'Yer could've bin thrown, or worse,' he said, with right cause for fear. He had no need to repeat the experiences of 1993. 'This un was th' biggest too.'

'I never would have guessed,' Malfoy said, a slight smirk on his face as he glanced at his expensive gold watch. 'Oh look. Lesson's over.'

With that, he gathered his books and sauntered away, the rest of the class, and Hagrid, still gaping behind him.

Hermione found movement in her feet, and ran after him as the rest of the class dispersed. 'Wait, Malfoy!' she gasped, dodging people in the busy corridors of Hogwarts.

'What is it, Granger?' he asked curtly.

'What on earth were you doing out there with the Abraxan?' Hermione demanded, lengthening her stride to keep up with him.

'What do _you _think? Swimming? Having a picnic? Playing snap?' he said sarcastically.

'Okay. You were flying,' Hermione said impatiently. 'But how? How did you get it to agree to carry you?'

'_It_ is a _he_,' Malfoy said pointedly. 'And _he_ has a _name_.'

'What is it?' Hermione asked, curious. How on earth would Malfoy find out that Abraxan's name?

'Pegasus,' he replied shortly, and hurried on.

'_The _Pegasus?' Hermione gaped, then realising he had kept going, hurried to catch up with him again. 'As in Perseus and Medusa, Pegasus?'

'What do _you _think?' Malfoy said, not looking at her but smiling unpleasantly.

'Stop asking my opinion, Malfoy, and _tell _me something,' Hermione snapped, feeling definitely frustrated. She thought she had glimpsed a much nicer person up there in the air whom she could reasonably inquire about the flying horse and how (as her ever curious mind sought to enquire) he had managed to get it to agree to bear him.

Malfoy stopped abruptly outside the door to their Arithmancy classroom. '_It_ is called Pegasus. I requested permission to fly him. He agreed. I flew him. End of story.'

'You talked to it? How?' Hermione asked, interested.

Malfoy scowled, looking oddly furious at himself, and stalked into the classroom, Hermione close behind and brimming with questions about the flying horse, and Malfoy's un-Malfoyish behaviour.

'Good morning, Hermione,' Professor Vector greeted the Gryffindor as she entered the room. The purple-robed witch with red fly-away hair was standing at the front of the small classroom, writing on the blackboard.

Hermione slipped into the seat behind Malfoy, and looked about glumly. There were only four other people in the classroom besides her and Malfoy. Two were Slytherins (a boy and a girl, both of whom Hermione was relieved to see were mild in their House beliefs), the other two Hufflepuffs (both girls). She was the only Gryffindor. The other girl, from her dormitory, who did Arithmancy had quit at the end of last year, opting to take up Divination instead.

Last year, Gryffindors had Arithmancy with Ravenclaw, and the class had held about twelve people. The difficult subject had been popular with Ravenclaws, and Professor Vector was head of Ravenclaw house. Arithmancy was complex, and involved hard work, unlike the softer, foggy, vague subject of Divination, which more people opted for. As such, Hermione was surprised to see Malfoy in her class. She hadn't thought he'd like to use his brain.

'Copy this down,' Professor Vector instructed the class when she had finished writing. There were some questions on the board, and Hermione did so quickly, even as Professor Vector went to her desk and began writing.

Hermione stared at the problems. They were fairly simple for her, and probably quite difficult for the rest of the class. Hermione had always found Arithmancy easy, an opinion not really shared by the others. Today, though, she was half distracted from her work, finding herself insanely curious when she saw Draco Malfoy in front of her working through the questions quietly _and_ studiously, with no apparent difficulty. Yet more odd, un-Malfoy behaviour today.

'Stop staring at me, Granger,' Malfoy suddenly said to Hermione without warning, his back still to her as he appeared to continue working. Professor Vector was currently helping one of the Hufflepuffs with the questions.

Hermione jumped, face flushing. 'I'm not staring at you!' she hissed.

'There's nothing at all interesting about my back,' Malfoy continued, as if she hadn't spoken. 'And if there is, it's none of your concern,' he added placidly.

Hermione gaped at him, before turning back to her work, attempting to concentrate while thoughts of Malfoy behaving as he had flew through her mind at whirlwind speeds.

'I'd like to check your work now,' Professor Vector instructed after another few minutes had gone past. 'While I do that, read through chapter one of your new text books.'

The students handed their work to the front of the class where the teacher sat, and obediently turned to chapter one of their new textbooks. Hermione had, naturally, already read that chapter and the rest of the book several times while she had been at the Weasley's. Now, she attempted to force herself to re-read chapter one, but found her eyes often drifting back to Malfoy's back, and stared at him thoughtfully while he occasionally turned a page in the textbook.

Professor Vector had finished, and now she handed back the work.

'Excellent, Draco,' she said approvingly as she neared the blond Slytherin. 'Full marks.'

Hermione sat up in surprise, looking at him. She had _never_ thought Draco Malfoy could get full marks in a difficult subject like Arithmancy.

Professor Vector meanwhile, had reached her.

'Good work, Hermione,' the purple-robed professor said pleasantly. 'Just a bit of a careless error on the sixth question where for some reason you substituted four for three.' She looked at Hermione shrewdly. 'I must say, that is the first time you've never come top in the class for your work, but,' she quickly added seeing Hermione's worried face, 'we all make careless mistakes and this doesn't go towards the O.W.L.s. Besides, it wasn't a test.' That last statement pre-empted Hermione's open mouth, ready to ask that exact question.

Professor Vector continued on to the other students in the class. Hermione sat back in her seat, gazing contemplatively at Draco Malfoy. She could hardly believe he had enough intelligence to get full marks and, well, beat her at Arithmancy, the tough subject that required brain power and clever deductive powers.

The object of her thoughts turned around at that moment, a sneer on his face as he leaned against his desk. 'Nice to come second in class for once, Miss Granger?' he asked mockingly, taking on the pomposity of a teacher.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' Hermione said, her face definitely red with embarrassment. She changed track. 'Now that you've beat me though, would you mind telling me what happened this morning at Care of Magical Creatures?'

The sneer fell of Malfoy's face, and his eyes became guarded. 'Nothing happened, Granger. Just how many times will I have to say that before it gets into that bushy head of yours?' He sounded rather exasperated at her persistence.

Hermione was equally frustrated. 'Something definitely happened with that Abraxan,' she snapped.

'The Abraxan –' he began.

'Has a name. I know. Pegasus,' Hermione said shortly. 'But what were you doing with it? You could have been killed.'

'Concern, Granger? From you?' he pretended to look touched, making Hermione grip the edge of her seat to prevent herself from flying at him in fury.

'Of course. I'm concerned about Hagrid's welfare,' Hermione retorted.

'You worry about that big oaf too much,' Malfoy scoffed. 'He can deal with his own affairs.'

'Well look what happened to him in third year,' Hermione said through gritted teeth. 'All because of you.'

'And that stupid creature,' Malfoy added, half under his breath.

'Why didn't you do something with Buckbeak like you did today? Be polite and courteous?' Hermione demanded.

'It's different now,' Malfoy mumbled, half-dazed, and he turned around, leaving behind an even more confused Hermione. He ignored her for the rest of the lesson, and left the classroom quickly when the lesson ended before Hermione could talk to him again.


	5. Quidditch Trials

THE MANOR

Chapter 5 – Quidditch Trials

It was Sunday, just after noon, and Hermione reluctantly gathered her books into her bag, and headed off to the Great Hall. The first weekend back was used for Quidditch trials. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had the pitch yesterday, today, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Slytherin should have already finished. They had taken the pitch in the morning, which meant that Gryffindor was due to start in less than an hour.

Ron had been very nervous the whole of yesterday night, constantly muttering keeper tactics to himself and staring at his broomstick with an expression that hovered between grim determination and blatant fear. Harry and Ron had decided to watch the Quidditch trials for _all_ the Houses, both yesterday and today, so Hermione had seen little of them this weekend. Today, she hadn't spoken to them since breakfast. Of course, they had made her promise to come and watch the Gryffindor trials ('for moral support,' Ron had explained earnestly) and also to bring down some form of sustenance so they wouldn't have to leave the Quidditch pitch for such mundane matters as lunch.

Thus it was that Hermione now found herself gathering food for the two boys. She slapped together some ham and cheese sandwiches, wrapped the whole lot together with a napkin, and headed down to the Quidditch pitch.

The first week back at school, she mused as she walked, had definitely reflected the growing concern of the staff towards the danger of Voldemort's return. Normally, teachers would be hard on students at this time of their education, since it was their fifth year, the year they took their O.W.L.s, or Ordinary Wizarding Levels. But the teachers were extra tough on this particular lot of fifth year (which after all contained Harry Potter), with a new emphasis on both O.W.L.s _and_ protection against dark magic.

One of Hermione's favourite subjects, Transfiguration, had begun a little unusually. Professor McGonagall had begun by asking if anybody was interested in becoming an animagus in the future, a process that was extremely difficult, but she had asked the question seriously, eyes grave.

Of course, Hermione had been one of those who raised her hand.

'I must warn you,' Professor McGonagall had said soberly, glasses perched on her nose, 'that most of you will not succeed. However, some people find it naturally easier than others, but in the past, not many have taken the risk or effort to become Animagus. There is a pressing need for these people, and they must be found.' She did not bother explaining the need. She didn't really need to.

After the opening talk on Animagi, Professor McGonagall proceeded to teach them how to transfigure objects like hair ribbons or ties into thick, hard cord or rope. Then, she taught them how to tie knots. 'This particular skill can come in useful,' she added mildly, as Neville proceeded to tie himself into knots.

The first lesson in Charms involved the class learning how to use the Stunning spell, which Harry, Ron and Hermione already knew. It was fun though, with the entire class shouting '_Stupefy!_' at bunches of Cornish Pixies. It was a far more successful class than Gilderoy Lockhart's second year class had been, although the pixies still managed to grab Neville Longbottom by the rear and hoist him up near the ceiling until Hermione managed to stun them, thus causing Neville to crash into the floor with a painful sounding thud, giving the class a sheepish grin as they all whooped in laughter.

Potions also seemed different. Snape marched into class purposefully, and did not even bother berating Neville, who dropped his textbook in fear at the sight of the dark-haired professor.

'This year, you will be working towards your O.W.L.s,' Snape said, black eyes regarding them all with an odd amount of solemnity. 'Which means, of course, you will be boosting your very essential knowledge of potions. Poisons, antidotes, healing brews, energy draughts … everything you learn can help you in your life,' he said sharply. 'It is vital,' here, the professor even sounded impassioned, 'that every single one of you,' his eyes roved over the Potions class, even to the Slytherins, 'pay attention.'

Severus Snape's eyes flickered over to Draco Malfoy and his two cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Hermione noticed the wariness in the way he regarded those three Slytherins who were lounging indolently at their bench, and understood this caution at once. Snape had warned the students against danger, but had never once mentioned Voldemort for a simple reason. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had Death-Eater parents. Death-Eaters who thought Snape was still loyal to their 'cause.' A cause Severus Snape wasn't particularly fond about. It would be dangerous, though, not to maintain his façade in front of the sons of the Death-eaters. Children could be very useful informers as times.

Hermione had very strong suspicious that Snape had taken up his old job of spying for Dumbledore, which she had to admit, was very courageous of the greasy-haired professor, if not extremely foolish.

'Today, you will be working on the antidote for the Draught of Living Death. The draught is a popular potion used by … certain factions within the wizarding world,' Snape said blandly. 'You will work in pairs.'

'I want to work with you, Hermione,' Ron said automatically.

'And make me work alone?' Harry said instantly in response.

'You're better at Potions than me,' Ron said instantly.

Harry laughed incredulously. 'Snape hates my guts. Any skill I have doesn't matter to _him_.'

Hermione broke up their argument, hiding her amusement. 'Forget it,' she told them with finality. 'I'm working with Neville,' she headed off to the forgetful boy who was absolutely dismal at Potions.

Ron gave Harry a careful look. 'Is something going on between Neville and Hermione?'

Harry cracked up, bent over with laughter, then tried to turn his laughter into coughs as Snape's watchful eyes swung over to him from their position at the blackboard.

Hermione discovered to her chagrin that working with Neville meant she was working at the bench next to Malfoy, virtually standing next to him. The blond Slytherin was unbearable in Potions, where he always seemed determined to be as antagonistic as possible to the Gryffindors. She scowled, watching him lounge at the bench with Goyle. While the rest of the class bustled to and fro, collecting ingredients, setting up cauldrons, doing every quickly before attracting the wrath of the Potions master, he spoke up.

'Professor,' Draco Malfoy said, voice lazy, not very loud, yet definitely audible, causing as everyone in the class to momentarily stop and listen. 'Shouldn't we also be working on the actual Draught of Living Death?'

Snape's black eyes flashed, as he swallowed visibly, Adam's apple bobbing. 'The Draught is dangerous to brew,' he said curtly.

'But so is the antidote,' Malfoy said, voice innocent, yet the reply also held a tone that verged on arrogant superiority. 'The antidote is much more dangerous to brew than the Draught.' Snape stared at his (formerly) favourite student, his face carefully blank as he attempted to formulate a response to that accurate statement which would not offend the Death-Eater spawn.

Hermione couldn't resist comment. 'You seem extraordinarily well-versed on how to brew the Draught of Living Death, Malfoy,' she murmured to him under her breath.

'I read, Granger,' Malfoy hissed.

'At Knockturn Alley, of course,' Hermione added, mildly.

'Of course,' Malfoy said sarcastically.

'The Draught is not a course requirement for this year,' Snape said at last.

__

Yeah, Hermione thought, _but neither is the antidote_. It was obvious Malfoy was also very aware of that fact, but he stopped his words, grey eyes perplexingly unreadable, as he looked steadily at the Slytherin Head of House.

In Herbology, Professor Sprout sought to inform them on dangerous plants of Britain, and how to avoid or overcome their evil purposes. In Astronomy, Professor Sinistra showed them how the stars could be used for them to discover their location should they happen to be lost in the middle of the Sahara Desert. In History of Magic, the class fell asleep promptly as usual.

'Hermione!' The call jolted Hermione out of her reverie, and she saw Harry and Ron waving at her from where they sat in the stands at the edge of the Quidditch pitch, watching the Slytherin tryouts that had not yet finished.

'Here's your lunch,' Hermione handed over their sandwiches, which they devoured hungrily.

'Slytherin's running late,' Harry observed to Hermione.

Hermione nodded casually dressed hopefuls, zooming amongst two green-clad figures who seemed to be permanent Slytherin team members. She could make out clearly the slight figure of the green-robed Draco Malfoy, perched on his Nimbus 2001. He appeared to be directing the others about, voice just slightly emphasised with a light _Sonorus_ charm.

'Malfoy's captain of the Slytherin team this year,' Harry added.

'Really?' Hermione said, not terribly surprised nor interested. 'Is that good news or bad news?'

'Bad,' Harry said glumly. 'I've been watching his reactions to the trials. He's being really cruel – I wouldn't ever do what he's doing – but he's dumped some members of the Slytherin team who weren't very good, and looking for new players who are much better. Some of the ones he's interested in are girls as well, especially for the Chaser spots.' This seemed to break the traditional all-male Slytherin Quidditch team mould, as well as the fact that previously, under the direction of Marcus Flint, the team had consisted of the big and the bulky … not the skilled and the fast.

Hermione nodded. It looked like Malfoy was going for skill, rather than intimidating looks.

Harry left her then, going down to begin organising the Gryffindor tryouts. To Harry's immense surprise, the five seventh years on the team had announced that he was to be the Captain of the Gryffindor team.

'Me?' Harry had said, flabbergasted, in dumbstruck astonishment on Thursday night.

Angelina nodded. 'We thought it would be better, because if any of us became captain, we'd have to leave next year. That means, any long-term strategies and so on wouldn't really be really implemented by us,' she explained seriously.

'We also had trouble deciding which of us should get the job,' Fred added. 'I mean, you can't choose between us two,' he pointed to him and George. 'And the girls are really the same in Quidditch skills.'

Harry had accepted eventually, after the Weasley twins threatened to test their new product (Chocolate Coins) on him. They tested them anyway, causing Harry to walk about the common room that night with the sound of jingling coins coming from his stomach, to the hilarity of the others.

Finally, the hopeful Slytherins were finished with the field, and they wearily changed and made their way back to the school.

'Great, we can start,' Harry said, nodding, satisfied.

Ron looked visibly green.

Draco Malfoy sauntered over calmly, and took a seat in the stands, near the back, feet up on the seat in front of him, relaxed. He had just showered (his wet hair clung to his head) and changed in the Slytherin changing rooms, and was now in his usual Hogwarts black.

Harry and Ron both scowled. 'Why does he have to be here,' Ron asked. He didn't look at all happy about having Malfoy watch him try out.

Harry turned pleading eyes to Hermione. 'Couldn't you go and keep an eye on him or something?'

Hermione sighed, and reluctantly nodded as she stood up. Inside, she was groaning at the prospect of putting up with Malfoy all afternoon. But she couldn't refuse Harry. As she made her way slowly to Malfoy, she considered the situation. It wouldn't be that bad. Yes, Malfoy would be nasty, but as long as she could keep him preoccupied enough to not shout nasty comments to Ron, it would be worth it. And she could ask him about the Abrax– Pegasus, she mentally corrected herself.

'What's up, Granger,' Malfoy asked, voice resigned, as Hermione sat down next to him.

'What are you doing here?' Hermione asked as she plonked her books down.

'Watching,' Malfoy replied calmly. 'It's not forbidden is it? I noticed Potter and Weasley were watching us.'

There weren't many people in the stands yet. Most people were still finishing lunch. However, many Gryffindors would probably turn up, especially the Quidditch fans and friends of those trying out. Other houses, especially Quidditch captains of other houses, would also watch. So Malfoy, theoretically, had plenty of reasons to watch Gryffindor's trials.

'Aren't you going to go back and get something to eat first?' Hermione asked him.

'No,' was his short reply. He wasn't looking at her as he talked, but was watching ahead, eyes fixed on Harry and Ron. 

'Aren't you hungry?' Hermione persisted. 'You should really go and get something to eat after the trials all morning.'

'I can't be bothered, Granger,' he said. 'And neither should you.'

Hermione took out the remnants of Harry and Ron's lunch. She had overestimated the sizes of their appetites, since Ron hadn't been all that hungry due to his nervousness. 'Have a sandwich,' she offered him.

He gave her a dubious look.

'Have you done anything to them?' he asked her suspiciously.

'Of course not,' Hermione said impatiently.

He picked one up, and inspected it. 'Ham,' he said with distaste.

'Oh I'm _sooo_ sorry,' Hermione said, annoyed. 'I forgot Mr-Rich-and-Spoilt-Brat would be picky about his food.'

Malfoy looked equally annoyed with her. 'I don't eat meat,' he snapped. Apparently, he also didn't like being called a spoilt brat.

Hermione raised a brow. 'You're a vegetarian?' she asked, puzzled.

He glanced away. 'I don't like killing animals just to satisfy my own hunger,' he said flatly.

'You're a vegetarian!' Hermione repeated incredulously.

He laughed, the sound pleasantly surprising. 'Don't tell Potter and Weasley,' he said, half-pleading, half-joking. Seeing Hermione's astonishment hadn't faded, he spoke again. 'My mother's one too,' he supplied helpfully.

'No wonder she's so skinny,' Hermione just said enviously. She had seen Narcissa Malfoy at the Quidditch World Cup – a beautiful, slim woman dressed in designer robes.

'You're not exactly fat, Granger,' Malfoy said dryly.

Hermione blinked. Was Draco Malfoy just being nice to her? 'But I'm not exactly model thin like your mother is,' she pointed out reasonably.

He shrugged. 'She doesn't try to be thin,' he said, half-defensively. 'If she went on a diet of cake, chips, Florean Fortesque's ice-cream, and everything fattening for a year, she would still stay the way she is.'

Hermione nodded, understanding. She knew people like that too. 'So is your father a vegetarian?' Hermione inquired.

He gave her a rather bleak smile. 'Father likes his steak rare.' Of course. 'It annoys Mother no end.'

'So you don't like killing an animal for no reason at all,' she said slowly. 'But you'd gladly kill people.'

This made him sit up. 'I've never killed a person,' he looked directly at her, his grey eyes surprisingly piercing in their honesty.

'Really?' Hermione asked doubtfully.

'_Yet_,' he sat back again, making Hermione shake her head in disgust, not sure if he was serious or not.

'But your parents are running around killing people,' Hermione refused to drop the topic. 'Your mother doesn't like killing animals, but she'd gladly kill a person.'

That did it.

Draco Malfoy stood up, his eyes flashing furiously, face white with anger. Hermione was half afraid. 'Don't you dare say anything about my mother,' he spat out to Hermione. And with that, he stood, and stalked away from a shocked Hermione.

'That was brilliant,' Ron gasped in admiring amazement as he came up to Hermione. 'How did you get him to leave?'

'Good work,' Harry chimed in.

Hermione looked down, a little guiltily. She wasn't sure what she had said to have made Draco Malfoy so furious, but was vaguely certain that Malfoy was quite emotionally attached to his mother. It made her feel somewhat uncomfortable for insulting his mother just to get him to leave, even though, she told herself, she hadn't been planning to get him to just get up and leave.

She sighed, as Ron spoke. 'We're starting now,' Ron said, voice excited, hand clearly trembling.

Hermione nodded.

Although only a keeper position was needed that year, the fact that five out of seven players were going to leave next year meant that some forethought was needed. Harry had decided to try out positions for reserve Chasers and Beaters seriously, and would begin training them in earnest this year, so that next year, they would be ready to play. As a result, many younger students were hopping about, eagerly awaiting the commencement of the trials since there was a real chance that they could become part of next year's team.

While Harry went down to the field with the others to begin, Hermione took out her work which she had naturally brought down to the pitch with her. She sighed again, and began studying and scribbling, but every now and then, her thoughts would meander through her conversation with Draco Malfoy.

A few minutes later, she sat, lost in thought, considering Malfoy. He seemed so … so unusual. On the outside, he acted like a typically callous Slytherin, insulting Muggleborns and Muggles, and declaring open war on Gryffindor House. But there was something else under all that bravado. His affectionate respect for Pegasus. His care for his mother. His denial of anything to do with Knockturn Alley and all its connections. The fact that he was a vegetarian.

Hermione giggled at that thought. She couldn't imagine Voldemort being a vegetarian. She imagined Voldemort shouting 'don't kill that poor little fluffy white rabbit!' all the while casting the death curse on whole groups of innocent people, and couldn't help laughing quietly to herself. But then again, Voldemort was insanely mad. Hitler, after all, was very caring about animals, but not people.

But Malfoy had laughed, smiled, and seemed different at times. When he had been on Pegasus. When he had begged her not to tell Harry and Ron of his eating habits. Even his triumph at beating her in Arithmancy had lacked his usual malice.

'Hermione! How was I?' Ron was suddenly in front of her, a wide smile on his face.

Hermione blinked. Ron had finished? She hadn't even noticed her best friend beginning(!), her thoughts so preoccupied with a certain blond Slytherin.

'Er, you looked good so far as I could tell,' she said cautiously. 'But you know me, I know nothing about Quidditch so I couldn't _really _tell,' she pretended to play off on her stupidity.

Ron bought it, not surprisingly, which made Hermione just a tad bit scornful. Of course she knew something about Quidditch. She had gone to watch the World Cup, she had been around Viktor Krum for a fair while, even taken the world-famous Seeker to the Yule Ball … how could she not know anything?

However, Hermione smiled and nodded as Ron rambled on about the Quidditch trials. Ginny was also trying out, and Hermione nodded approvingly when she noticed Ginny whizzing about the pitch with competent ease. After all, with five Quidditch mad brothers, how could she be anything but?

When Ginny had finished, she stepped off the pitch.

'Congrats, Ginny,' Harry said, smiling to the petite red-head. 'You did very well.'

The praise made Ginny's face glow bright red, and clash terribly with her hair.

The Quidditch trials finished at about five o'clock, whereupon Harry announced the results to those still waiting. Ron, of course, had been made Keeper amidst many congratulations. Ginny was one of the new Reserve Chasers, as was little Dennis Creevey. Of course, this meant that Colin Creevey had to take a photo of his brother with Harry to send home to his dad. Everyone was pretty happy, especially the Weasley twins who were overjoyed at their younger siblings' successes, and in general, disappointments were minimal as the Gryffindors trudged back up to get ready for dinner in the Great Hall.

As they walked back, Hermione noticed that Harry's face was flushed with happiness. The carefree Quidditch afternoon had clearly relaxed him – Hermione had never seen Harry so happy for a long time ago, as he discussed Quidditch tactics with Ron, surrounded by friends and those who loved him. She felt a surge of fondness inside her for the messy-haired boy.

There was a barking sound behind them then, and the three stopped, to see a large black dog. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather.

'Snuffles?' Harry asked, voice confused.

The black dog barked in acknowledgment, and with a jerk of his head, indicated for Harry to follow. As Hermione and Ron moved as to go with him, the dog shook his head, and barked again.

'I think only you're meant to follow,' Hermione said, eyeing Sirius and rapidly analysing the situation. Sirius nodded his great shaggy head.

'Okay,' Harry said hesitantly, and the blithe air about him began to diminish. 'I'll see you two later, right?'

Hermione and Ron nodded, and went back to the school without Harry. Harry returned just in time for dinner and sat down next to Hermione.

'Are you alright?' Hermione asked quietly.

He nodded and slowly began eating.

Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice. 'What was it about?' she inquired, voice low. Harry didn't look too talkative, and she didn't want to risk making him upset.

He tried to shrug. 'Nothing much.' His green eyes, though, spoke volumes. He had clearly been pulled right down from his Quidditch high back to the real world. Hermione suspected strongly that Sirius's urgency to speak with Harry had been related in some way to Lord Voldemort.

Hermione cast Harry a level look, which he returned calmly. His insistence on keeping silent about his troubles hurting Hermione, who only wanted to help and alleviate his problems.


	6. Swearing in Greek

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is JKR's or Warner Bros'. Anything else is mine. 

Chapter 6 – Swearing in Greek

They had been back at school for over a month now, and Hermione found herself working frantically. All the fifth years were, their piles of work in preparation for the O.W.L.s growing day by day. Whenever Hermione, Harry or Ron weren't working, the two boys would be practicing Quidditch, while she performed her prefect duties. 

Hermione's prefect duties were not heavy. They mostly involved patrolling certain corridors during night time one night a week. For now, she had been assigned the Astronomy tower on a Wednesday night from eight o'clock until half past eleven, which was fine with her, since she had Astronomy on Wednesday midnight anyway, and it kept her awake until then. Besides, it also meant she could do her Astronomy study while on duty, stopping every so often to send back couples who thought the Astronomy tower would be an intimate venue for romantic ventures. Personally, she couldn't see why anybody would want to have a romantic rendezvous at a place that was cold and chilly, although one could see the stars.

Prefect meetings occurred every week on a Friday afternoon and Hermione looked forward to these meetings. It was nice to be with the other prefects, who were all refreshingly responsible and pleasant people. Besides, it was nice to just sit back and not have to fret about her academic work. At their third prefect meeting, the Head Boy and Girl had informed them that there was to be a Christmas Ball. Apparently Dumbledore had been pleased with the success of the last one and so another one was planned. Votes quickly decided that this ball would be in costume, and then time began being spent on the organisational details. The prefects had to organise the ball.

Malfoy was strangely tolerable in these prefect meetings. He created little, or no trouble at all, and either sat back, listening to other suggestions, or involved himself politely. He never attacked her, or Neville, during these meetings. The only reason Hermione could imagine for this peace was that Malfoy wanted to be Head Boy, but it was still surprising. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless.

Workloads increased, and with the onset of October, the new extra training sessions for Defense Against the Dark Arts began. All the Gryffindor fifth years went to the Great Hall with a certain amount of wariness. A whole two and a half hours with Slytherins from seven to half past nine sounded dangerous, and so, with heavy hearts, they readied themselves for fighting.

Just last week, after all, a few insults passed in the corridors had resulted in a full-blown fight between Harry, Ron and Malfoy, broken up by Professor Figg who had whipped out her wand and frozen the three into stasis. A few brief threats had them promising not to stir up any more trouble, but who would believe either of them? But now, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where they would be authorised to cast curses and other dangerous things? Hermione shuddered with the possibilities.

After dinner when they had returned briefly to their common rooms, Hermione, Harry and Ron headed into the cleared up Great Hall, apprehensively, but also with some pleasure. Bill Weasley would be teaching them first.

'Bill!' Ron exclaimed as he went into the Hall.

'Ron,' Bill said, smiling. He was using his wand to cover the cold stone floor with soft mats. 'Hi Harry, Hermione,' he greeted his brother's best friends.

'How long will you be here?' Ron asked eagerly.

'About a month,' Bill replied as he uncurled another mat with a flick of his wand. 'Arabella's got Lupin coming in next,' he added.

'Do _something_ to Malfoy at least once,' Ron begged, with an evil grin. 'We're in the same class, you know, and it'd be so much fun!'

'Dumbledore might get upset,' Bill said blandly.

'Don't see why,' Ron retorted loudly.

In time, the rest of the class had arrived and stood waiting in the centre of the hall. The two Houses were clearly divided. The Gryffindors stood watching Bill with eager, excited expressions. The Slytherins held sullen, bored, and distasteful looks on their faces.

Bill waved at them to sit down, and they did so – the Gryffindors obediently, the Slytherins reluctantly, and a few occasional mutters of 'why should we do anything that stupid Weasley tells us to do?'

'This class, as you should all know by now, is to increase your ability to defend yourself against the dark arts,' Bill began.

Seamus Finnigan snorted from where he sat. 'We're going to need it,' he muttered cynically with his Irish accent to Harry, jerking his head towards the ugly-looking Slytherins. 

'I will be teaching you about curse-breaking. You should have already begun learning how to deflect them, but breaking them can be a bit trickier. Some people find it easier than others – I'm one of those,' Bill said candidly.

A swish of long, pale golden hair came in the back of the hall, and Bill smiled at Fleur Delacour who had entered.

'Miss Delacour will be helping me tonight,' he added unnecessarily to the class. Fleur smiled at him prettily. She was definitely interested in the hot young wizard who was taking the session.

Bill continued with fairly simple instructions, then gave a demonstration with Fleur hitting him with a Jelly-Legs curse. He broke out of it very effectively with a purple bang of light. The class applauded, amazed. It _was _impressive, a lot more impressive than running away or deflecting curses, which, as one can imagine, members of both houses thought rather cowardly. 

As they dispersed to try the simple curses and break them among themselves, Hermione turned to Harry and Ron. 'That was really amazing,' she said, honestly impressed. She had never tried curse-breaking, although she had read about it, of course.

Harry and Ron nodded vigorously.

'That was nothing,' Draco Malfoy said disdainfully to Crabbe and Goyle at his side. They both hurriedly agreed although they had clapped enthusiastically along with the rest of the class.

Harry, overhearing, turned to him.

'Could you break out of a curse?' Harry asked furiously. He hated the way Malfoy kept degrading the Weasley family.

Malfoy sneered. 'Naturally,' he said arrogantly. 'Why, can't you or the Weasel?' he asked. He looked completely ready to pick a fight, and his wand was in his hand, half raised.

'_Petrificus totalus!_' Harry shouted, wand raised so suddenly that Hermione was surprised with the speed of the curse. It was so quick, the words not even terribly clear, although the intent, evident. Yet, equally quickly, Malfoy had shouted something she didn't catch with a slight flicker of his wand, and although he froze into a stasis momentarily, it suddenly broke with a flash of turquoise light, and he swiftly relaxed back into his normal, smug position. The force of his curse-breaking had thrown Harry to the ground.

As one may expect, many in the class were gaping.

Fleur exclaimed shrilly in shock. ' 'Arry! Are you alright?'

'Harry, what were you doing?' Bill asked, making his way over, a look of weary – _here it comes _– in his face.

'Malfoy provoked him,' Ron defended at once.

'Malfoy was demonstrating to us his _fantastic_ ability to break out of curses,' Hermione said simultaneously, voice dripping with sarcasm, as she gave the smirking, pale-faced boy a cold look, which he wasted no time returning.

Bill sighed resignedly. He had expected trouble from Lucius Malfoy's son, but there was nothing really he could do, since Harry had cast the curse, even though he was provoked. 'Please don't do that again, either of you,' he said. His voice was more than a little tired. He had arrived at Hogwarts after two weeks of frantic work overseas talking with the Egyptian Minister of Magic as an ambassador for Dumbledore and was no mood for dealing out detentions. Detention for Malfoy would mean detention for Harry as well, which he had no intention of inflicting on the poor boy.

Draco Malfoy just gave Bill a contemptuous look. '_Weasleys_,' Hermione heard him mutter scornfully under his breath.

The rest of the class continued smoothly enough, with successes becoming more frequent, although some never managed to get the hang of curse breaking, as Bill had predicted. Hermione, however, spent a lot of her time thinking about Draco Malfoy, and she often glanced over at him, eyes narrowed. He had managed to break out of a fairly difficult curse with virtually no warning. Such quick reflexes were impossible, she thought. No one could be that fast. The Petrifying Curse was especially difficult to break, because it could only be broken _before_ the curse was set on you. And he had been fast enough to do it.

It definitely proved one thing though. That Malfoy's grasp on magic was a lot better than many of them had suspected. Hermione wanted to tear out her hair in frustration. Malfoy kept surprising her, and she didn't really like it. Ever since that first Care of Magical Creatures class, nothing had happened with magical creatures. Malfoy was unnervingly quiet in the classes, and almost seemed to be avoiding anything demonstrative in an effort to field off her enquiries.

Hermione drifted over in the direction of Malfoy. 'Why do you keep baiting Harry and the Weasleys?' she hissed at him.

He was watching Crabbe and Goyle trying to break each other's curses, a distinctly derisive expression on his face.

'Granger,' he said acidly. 'Shut up.'

Hermione frowned, and opened her mouth.

'I wanted to get a word in first,' he added.

Hermione closed her mouth, looking at him confusedly. Whatever did he mean by that? At that moment, Bill began speaking, so she did as Malfoy had suggested, and shut up.

'We will be spending the next week also learning how to break out of curses, and then we will learn about breaking curses placed on other objects. That is more standardly required – most of the time, it is easier to just deflect or resist the curse, but it is hard to do that on an inanimate object,' Bill finished the lesson.

The next morning, at breakfast, Harry and Ron were surprisingly awake as they ate their breakfast. They were busy plotting.

'We need one thing, Hermione,' Ron said solemnly, as Hermione approached them. 'One thing only.'

Hermione raised her brow, waiting.

'Revenge,' Harry finished.

Hermione stared at them both. 'What?!?'

'Malfoy's going too far,' Harry explained seriously.

'He's even acting up to the teachers,' Ron said, complaining with wild arm gesticulations.

Harry nudged Ron. 'Er, Bill's not really a teacher, Ron,' he reminded.

'Close enough,' Hermione said firmly.

Harry and Ron's eyes brightened with the approval of their friend. Hermione _never_ approved of their mischief-making and bending of school rules.

'Right,' Harry said enthusiastically. 'What are we going to do?'

'Turn him into a ferret again?' Ron's eyes brightened.

Hermione groaned. 'That's a bit unoriginal,' she objected. Harry though, obviously thought this was a fantastic idea.

'We _could_ get Bill to do it,' he agreed. Hermione coughed loudly at this, and Harry sighed regretfully. 'But again, he mightn't want to.' He hit another idea. 'How about making him talk nonstop? That would drive the teachers insane! Can you imagine Snape's reaction?'

Ron grinned. 'That's a good one,' he gloated. 'We could also make him fall off during the next Quidditch match! How about that?'

Fortunately, Harry hadn't lost all his senses. 'We're targeting Malfoy, not Slytherin,' he said mournfully, his sense of honesty coming through. 'And that'd be like cheating.' He paused. 'But how about this? _After _the match, when he's flying back, we could make him fall off,' Harry suggested eagerly

Hermione listened to this train of talk for just a while longer, while the ideas got generally more outrageous and foolish. Then, with a deliberate '_ahem_,' she got their attention.

'Do you have any suggestions, Hermione?' Harry asked solicitously.

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained. Yes, Malfoy was a stupid git, but they were going just a bit too far. Some of their far-fetched plans were ones she wouldn't even wish on her worst enemy. 'You do realise that what you're planning could get you into a lot of trouble if you're caught?' Hermione demanded reasonably.

Ron did roll his eyes. 'We won't get caught,' he said with a tone of great patience. 'We could ask Sirius' help. He and Harry's dad always managed to bust up Snape.'

'But they _did _get caught, didn't they,' Hermione pointed out. 'Fred and George, who would know about this sort of thing, told me that the record holder for the most detentions was one S. Black on one hundred and three, in 1975.'

'True,' Ron conceded. 'But I still think getting Malfoy to dance around in the Great Hall during the Hallowe'en feast would be bloody brilliant.'

'Actually, Ron, there's a bit of a flaw with that,' Fred had joined in the conversation.

'How about we sell you one of our Canary Creams and you use it on the ferret?' George suggested. 'That's publicly humiliating.'

Now Hermione did roll her eyes, and turned to glance at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was sitting there, watching them, yet completely unaware of the evil plans being carefully laid out for him by the two idiots sitting next to her. His grey eyes caught hers momentarily though, and from the glint of human amusement in them, Hermione suddenly had a feeling that he was completely aware of what Harry and Ron were planning. The congenial moment died before one could count to one though, and he gave her one of his best sneers.

Hermione shook her head in disgust. Let Harry and Ron do their work.

The _Daily Prophet_ arrived at that moment courtesy of the owl post, and Hermione, grabbing her copy, opened the newspaper to read the headlines.

__

'Arthur Weasley New Minister of Magic!' the large headline screamed next to a picture of a beaming Arthur and Molly Weasley. '_Yesterday's election proved to be a winner for the former Minister of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts …_'

'Ron!' Hermione grabbed Ron on the shoulder, and he gave her quizzical look, until she shoved the paper in front of him.

Ron's jaw dropped. 'I'd completely forgotten about it!' he gasped. Then, he gave a great cheer that resounded throughout the hall. 'Fred, George, Ginny!' he shoved them the paper. Then spying Bill on the Staff table where he was eating breakfast with Fleur Delacour, waved the paper in his eldest sibling's face.

Bill's eyes widened, and he jumped over from the Staff table to his siblings, where they joined in a celebratory hug. The other Gryffindors were cheering, clapping nobody in particular, and congratulating the Weasleys on their father's crowning achievement.

Hermione, pulling herself away from George's exuberant hug, eyed the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was watching the Weasley celebration sourly. She gave him a sweet smile, and he scowled. Hermione was now happily aware of the reason for his extremely short temper last night. He must have found out yesterday, somehow, before the media came out, and she felt very contented, knowing that a Weasley had beat a Malfoy.

That Sunday, at the frighteningly early hour of half past six, Hermione was up and dressed, sitting in her dormitory. Harry and Ron had Quidditch practice and Hermione had decided to go along and watch, wanting to be outside in the fresh air after being cooped up in the castle for so long. However, as she noticed the looks of fanaticism on their faces as they headed towards the Quidditch pitch armed with plenty of parchments on which plans had been scribbled, Hermione decided it might be just a tad bit boring following them to the field. She'd also look just a bit foolish sitting there watching all by herself.

Sighing, she resolutely got out her books. She had better not waste the time, since she was already changed and everything, and do some constructive study. However, even as she took out her books, she frowned. She did _not _want to study now. It was Sunday morning, for crying out loud! So, she put the books back. Hermione pulled out a book to read, and felt guilty as she did so. Reading a fictional book with absolutely no relevance to her study was not good. It was a complete waste of time. Hermione reluctantly put the book back.

Then, as she glanced outside the window and caught sight of Hagrid's hut, she hit a brainwave. She could go and visit the winged horses! They weren't going to be set loose for a while yet, but today was a good time to observe them. It would be fun, an activity outdoors, but still related to her school work! And she could have a chat with Hagrid over steaming hot cups of tea, which she hadn't done in a while, since he was always so busy 'doin' things you shouldn't know anythin' about.' Perfect!

It was just a bit chilly outside, so she picked up a thick black cloak to put on over her casual clothes, and a red and gold Gryffindor scarf and gloves, before she took out a notebook and quill to write down her observations about the winged horses.

As she looked closely at the hut once more before she left, she noticed a certain white-blond Slytherin walking up to Hagrid's hut. Malfoy! He had to be up to something, she decided rapidly, and so it was up to her to save the day. She had even more of a reason to visit Hagrid's hut now. Hermione checked her wand was in her pocket, before she left the common room. Whatever Malfoy was planning to do (admittedly fantastic ideas swept through her mind of Malfoy burning down Hagrid's home, killing the creatures housed in the yard, getting himself injured again to get Hagrid out of there) could not be good.

Hermione slipped out of the castle after putting on the cloak, scarf and gloves to keep herself warm. In the distance, she could see several red-clad figures on the Quidditch pitch zipping about madly as they prepared vigorously. Their first game was coming up next week and Harry and Ron were determined to thrash Ravenclaw to smithereens.

Making her way to Hagrid's hut quickly and determinedly, she saw no sign of Malfoy when she arrived. Hermione frowned. Maybe he had already left. She shrugged, and returned to her earlier intentions of talking to Hagrid, and knocked on the door. Hagrid was usually up early. There was, however, no response, and she peered inside the windows, to see the gamekeeper's giant oilskin coat and dog, Fang, missing. Hagrid had obviously gone elsewhere, probably into the Forbidden Forest or something. Her eyes narrowed. This would make it easier for Malfoy to do his mischief.

Making her way around the back to the stable which also housed the four winged horses at night, she stopped short as she spied a pale, blond head of a slight figure clad in black in front of one of the stalls. Pegasus' stall. Hermione grimaced, and resolutely headed forward with a certain amount of caution.

A sudden breeze flipped the pages of her notebook, and he spoke without warning.

'Granger,' he said without turning around, his voice stopping her in her tracks.

'How did you know it was me?' Hermione asked irritably. Malfoy had that effect on her sometimes. It was a bit off-putting.

'Aside from the fact that you must be the only person in the entire school who usually wakes at this hour, aside from me, of course–'

'How do you kn–' she began to protest.

'–and the fact that I could hear the sounds of a notebook. Now,' he turned around, a smirk on his face as his grey eyes flickered over her face, 'who exactly goes running around at this hour in the morning carrying a book?'

Hermione scowled. This was not good.

He continued relentlessly. 'Besides, who else would come running out of their warm cosy common room to check up on possible sabotage?'

Hermione flushed. It was obvious that he knew her suspicions, evident from the amusement that glimmered in his eyes.

'Fine!' she said with a huff. 'You've figured it all out. But what are you doing here?' she asked hastily.

A contemplative look came across his face. 'I was thinking now might be a good time to go flying.'

He paused.

Hermione frowned. What did he mean? His broom was nowhere in sight. Her glance strayed over to the huge winged horse he stood before, and her mouth opened a bit.

'You c–' she began, dawning horror on her face.

'Are you going to stop me?' he asked one eyebrow raised, as he opened the door, and led out the white Abraxan.

'Er,' Hermione could only utter. He ignored her, and mounted swiftly, using the fence to mount the large horse. As he sat there, Hermione couldn't help noting how faery-like Malfoy appeared, sitting astride a magical, winged horse whose white feathers and skin gleamed in the sun, that almost seemed to dance lightly above the sparkling white snow. Malfoy's own pale hair shimmered with the early sunlight, and the black cloak he wore contrasted starkly to the shining whiteness of everything else. The faery image was ruined somewhat by the smirk that sat firmly on his face.

'So what, you're just going to fly now?' Hermione asked incredulously.

'Want a ride?' Malfoy offered. Hermione stared at his proffered hand, mind whirling.

All her life, she had wanted to fly. Flying was the one thing she had always wanted to do, the reason why she envied birds, and to some extent, Quidditch players. When she had first heard about flying lessons at Hogwarts, she had been very excited. Until she had first gotten onto a broom. Let's just say, Hermione and brooms don't get along very well.

'Well?' Malfoy asked a little impatiently.

Hermione just continued to gaze into the air. And then, in third year, she had flown on the back of a hippogriff. Not the most comfortable means of flying. But now, this … this was a horse with wings. Hermione quite liked horse riding. She had begun taking lessons when she had been nine, but her parents balked, when one of the boys in her riding class had been thrown, and severely injured, with (horrors of horrors for dentists) three teeth knocked out and two teeth chipped. That had been the end of riding for her.

But maybe flying on a winged horse would be infinitely superior to flying on a broomstick or, a part eagle-lion whatever species.

She hesitated still. 'It could be quite dangerous. And I hate flying on broomsticks, Hippogriffs are uncomfortable, and both of us probably wouldn't fit,' she rambled, trying to string her thoughts together. The last sentence made no sense – the back of the Pegasus was broad and long. 'Besides, we would probably get into a lot of trouble, and could be suspended, or expelled–' she continued mindlessly.

'Are we scared, Granger?' Malfoy drawled, obviously enjoying himself as he watched her squirm uncomfortably. Suddenly he gave her a suspicious look. 'When did you fly a Hippogriff?'

'Slip of the tongue,' Hermione said hastily. 

He narrowed his eyes at that, but let it pass as he gave her a challenging look. 'So are you going to join me?'

Hermione sighed. She would regret this when she regained consciousness lying in a hospital bed. She took Malfoy's hand.

'Finally,' he muttered, as he lifted her up in front of him with surprising strength.

Hermione marveled from her new vantage point – higher up than she was used to – when suddenly she jerked forwards, and she felt Malfoy's arm around her waist keeping her from falling.

'Thanks for telling me,' she snapped.

'No worries,' he replied carelessly, but Hermione forgot all about arguing as Pegasus lifted off the ground, beating his large wings. It was fantastic.

And awe-inspiring, breathtaking, absolutely wonderful, a heavenly or divine experience, one that she had never before anticipated, even better than hoped for, overwhelming, splendid, tremendously brilliant … you get the drift.

As they soared through the sky, Hermione's stomach sometimes dived and hopped around, doing some mad erratic dance of fear, but she ignored it. _This _was flying. The sun had risen higher, and now shone brightly and warmly over them.

Hermione couldn't help it, and whooped as Pegasus turned.

'Pegasus' wings needed stretching anyway,' Draco said in her ear. She barely even noticed his closeness.

'This is amazing,' she breathed. 'This is definitely the way to fly, Draco.'

'You called me Draco,' he half-shouted, his words harder to hear in the wind.

Hermione flushed. 'Slip of the tongue.'

'You're doing a lot of those,' he said, his voice light and teasing. 

Hermione turned a little, and was surprised to see his face so near hers, and grinned. 'I don't suppose you'd like to get me one of these for Christmas?'

He pondered. 'I could, but it's a little hard to sort out the legalities. They're a bit expensive, but that doesn't really matter – they'd be cheaper on the wizarding black market,' he grinned. 'However, you would have problems controlling it, if I weren't around –' he bit his lip.

Hermione's mind whirled – due to two factors. He had actually serious contemplated getting her an Abraxan? She had definitely been joking. And secondly, what was this business about him being around? It sounded suspiciously like the stuff he had been trying to avoid discussing earlier.

And now, Hermione wanted to speak two things. Question him about his seriousness, or inquire about his little slip of tongue.

Hermione sighed. She was a good girl, a Prefect, responsible member of all communities … it was clear she would have to follow up on _his _slip of tongue. 'What do you mean, "if I weren't around," ' she quoted him, turning back around to face the front, uncomfortable about facing him about that.

He didn't answer.

'Malfoy?' she asked, about to turn back around and direct a piercing stare at him.

Pegasus suddenly gave a dive downwards, and Hermione emitted a squeak, as her stomach took a dive somewhere she wasn't sure had existed in her. She clung tightly onto Pegasus' mane with one hand, the other held tightly onto Malfoy's hand around her waist.

And then, just as suddenly, Pegasus changed direction, and headed upwards again.

'Wow,' Hermione said, eyes wide, still trying to calm her panicking heartbeat.

'Wow indeed,' Malfoy said, a grin in his voice. 'Still want one for Christmas? That's what they do when they want to shake someone off.

Hermione didn't speak as Pegasus continued to fly above the Forbidden Forest, still busy recollecting her breath. She did notice though, that he had managed to effectively change the subject. They flew fairly peacefully – a lot more smoothly, and finally glided down to land effortlessly back where they had started from, whereupon, they sat, unmoving for a moment.

'I know I'm very comfortable,' Malfoy drawled, 'but it'd be nice to get back inside the Great Hall for a hot breakfast.'

Hermione jumped forwards with an embarrassed start. She hadn't realised she was still using Malfoy as a means of support. Malfoy leapt lightly off Pegasus, and then helped her down, with surprising courtesy.

The two stood, looking at each other.

'That was fun,' Hermione confessed, a little shyly.

'You're welcome,' he said, as he led Pegasus back to his stall. 'And don't worry about it. Hagrid let me fly Pegasus. Pegasus says to tell you he enjoyed it too.'

Hermione's brow shot up, but didn't push it. 'Is he named after _the_ famous Pegasus?' she queried instead.

'A descendent,' he explained with no hint of sarcasm. 'He's really Pegasus the fiftieth or something like that,' Malfoy said carelessly. The horse nudged his shoulder, and Malfoy nodded. 'Sorry. My little winged friend here,' he jerked his head at the horse, 'prefers accuracy. May I present Pegasus the Fifty-Sixth?'

Hermione's mouth opened. 'You can talk to him?'

It looked like Draco Malfoy was finally ready to volunteer some information. 'A little,' he admitted. 'It's not a big thing,' he quickly said. Hermione wanted to ask more, but decided, she had to wait. She really shouldn't push it when he actually offered details.

'Besides, Pegasus can be a bit stuffy sometimes,' he added. 'He likes to use awfully pompous language – thees and thous are sprinkled a little too liberally,' he sniffed disapprovingly. 'And he swears in Greek, so I can't understand it when he does.'

This time Pegasus nudged him a little harder.

'My apologies,' he said flamboyantly. He patted Pegasus, and then headed to the school with Hermione.

'Thanks a lot, for the ride,' Hermione said as they approached the school.

He smiled, the expression making him look so much more pleasant and approachable. 'No worries. Did you get enough information to write about?' he asked, nodding at her notebook.

Hermione giggled. 'I now know that Abraxans swear in Greek.'

He laughed too – a short sound, but still a laugh.

'Thank you, really, Draco,' Hermione said earnestly. She called him by his first name, deliberately, this time.

With no trace of sarcasm, he answered her. 'You're welcome, Hermione.'

The next day, when Hermione went to Arithmancy, she was first in the classroom, and she sat down, waiting for the others, and Professor Vector to arrive. The others came in shortly, and Professor Vector arrived on the dot. A minute later, Draco Malfoy came into the classroom, and slid into the seat next to Hermione. Hermione raised her brow in surprise, but said nothing. From then on, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had reached a truce, of sorts.

Author's note:

Oh my! My first reviews! They were very much appreciated by me, and constructive, too! Thanks!

Cinnamon - Yeah, I know, writing the whole chunk about Voldemort and stuff was boring, but that's how JKR usually begins her books, and I also sort of wanted another person's take on the events of the past. I'm very flattered! You put me on your fav stories?

Alexis-Lee - Draco's a growing boy, and entitled to change. But yes, the change seems a bit sudden to Hermione (and you) because she's hasn't seen him for two months. Two months can do a lot. It's nothing terribly dramatic or out of the blue, but something that I do believe could potentially affect a character like his. And never fear, Sirius will reappear in the action after a few more chapters. And Harry's state of near-perpetual gloom will be explained too.

Lady Prongs - For stuff on Draco, see above. As for the title? Don't worry. Manors do pop up down the line, probably to the annoyance of all the good guys.


	7. Failed Mischief

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: It's JKR's, okay? Not mine!

Chapter 7 – Failed Mischief

'It's not going to work,' Hermione warned Harry and Ron one Friday morning.

Harry threw her a cheeky grin. 'It will.' Hermione couldn't help smiling back involuntarily, and stifled the smile at once, replacing it with severity.

'We've gone through this countless times with Fred and George, and we even consulted Sirius,' Ron added, a satisfied look on his face.

The two of them were intent on playing their plan on Draco Malfoy today. Hermione shook her head, rolling her eyes heavenward, and settled down to spread herself some jam toast.

Stage A of Harry and Ron's plan involved making Draco Malfoy talk all day long. The two had enlisted Fred and George, and with a bit of experimentation, the twins came up with what they declared was a flawless plan. With great ceremony (despite the secrecy of the plan), they had presented Harry and Ron with a sugar cube in which they claimed they had put their spell.

'A sugar cube?' Hermione had asked dubiously.

'We've been watching him for almost two weeks, Hermione,' Harry explained to his friend. 'Malfoy always has a cup of tea in the morning, with one sugar cube in it.' Ron snickered slightly at this routine that sounded rather mundane and tame to him.

'How will you be sure he gets _your_ sugar cube?' Hermione questioned.

Harry grinned. 'We enlisted Dobby's help. Dobby will be tracking Malfoy from below, and when Malfoy reaches for a sugar cube, Dobby will know. Then, once Malfoy is about to pick up the sugar cube, Dobby will send up our _special_ sugar cube. Malfoy will pick it up, drop it into his tea, stir it in, and drink it.'

Harry and Ron sat back, smugly contented expressions on their faces.

'What if he doesn't drink tea that day?' Hermione had demanded. 'What if he doesn't want sugar? What if he just happens to pick up another cube?' She had never heard of such a flawed plan. And they had thought her plan in second year with the Polyjuice Potion was faulty! Hermione had a distinct feeling Draco could get past their somewhat bumbling plan.

'We go to stage B,' Ron shrugged, not concerned at all.

Hermione watched then, as Draco walked through the massive doors to the Great Hall. It was odd, but ever since flying on Pegasus with him last Sunday, she found him more approachable. He wasn't the cold, heartless Malfoy any more. He could be cold and heartless, but he wasn't only that.

During the week, in Arithmancy, he would sit next to her, and to Hermione's surprise, she had found herself enjoying those lessons with his intelligent and humorous comments. He had a very sardonic sense of humour, Hermione had discovered.

Back to the revenge. Hermione watched as Draco sat down, and true to Harry and Ron's words, prepared himself a cup of tea. The last step, after he added milk, was the sugar. Using a silver spoon held by long fingers, he picked up a sugar cube. Was it the right cube?

Fred and George winked at Harry and Ron. Evidently, according to the manufacturers, it was _the_ cube.

The sugar cube was dropped into the tea, and Draco stirred the tea absently. Then, he picked it up, and drank a large sip. And drank more.

'We added a little compelling charm as well,' George whispered. 'It makes him think he really wants to drink it all quickly.'

Fred nodded, smiling slightly. 'I wasn't about to wait the whole morning just for the ferret to finish his cup of tea.'

'Clever,' Ron said admiringly.

'You have to be, if you want to be in the business,' Fred shrugged matter-of-factly.

The tea was finished, and the five Gryffindors watched with baited breath. Draco began talking. And talking. For about a minute, he talked non-stop, his voice getting louder as he did.

'We also added a _sonorous_ charm,' Fred murmured.

'It worked,' Ron said, grinning.

'Of course it did,' George said, all wide-eyed innocence. 'We've tried it on Perce before when we went to visit him at his office.'

'That was a bit easier though,' Fred admitted. 'We made Perce's tea for him.'

'But we didn't think the ferret would drink any tea we went near,' George added.

'Couldn't possibly imagine why,' Fred said, voice mild.

But before Draco attracted the general attention of the Hall, he had clearly realised something was wrong. He tried to stop talking, but couldn't. Puzzled, he tried very hard to stop, and they could see the muscles in his throat struggling phenomenally, and the deep frown that creased his forehead in effort. It took a mammoth effort for the twins, Harry and Ron to not completely crack up. Hermione just watched intently.

'The victim's sense of frustration is the best bit!' Fred crowed. 'He can't get out but he sure as hell knows what's going on!'

'Victim?' Harry objected.

'That's the most accurate term,' Fred half-apologised.

'It doesn't sound very nice,' Harry remarked critically.

'Would you like us to find another name for the situation?' George questioned.

'Never mind,' Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Draco was grabbing something from his robes even as he gabbled and babbled non-stop to the confused looking goons, Crabbe and Goyle (that is, more confused than usual). His hand fumbled about, and then, all of a sudden, he had a wand in his hand, and he swished it just slightly.

And stopped talking with just the faintest hint of orange light fading from around him.

The Weasleys and Harry gaped.

'Damn,' Harry muttered.

'What?' Ron's jaw had dropped.

'How?' Fred's look was disbelieving.

'Impossible,' George said with finality, despite the clear evidence before him that Draco had stopped talking.

Hermione nodded to herself, smiling quietly, aware of how Draco had shaken off the compulsion to speak. The spell Fred and George had placed on the sugar cube had basically been a curse, not unlike the truth potion. And Draco Malfoy was very good at curse breaking, as he had demonstrated in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. However, he had managed to break the relatively simple curse this time without words, although he had used his wand to direct his magic. That impressed Hermione very much. That he was powerful enough to be able to break his curse without words, because he wasn't exactly saying the correct incantation.

Stage A had quite clearly failed miserably. Draco had only embarrassed himself before Crabbe and Goyle, which of course, did not count to Harry and Ron. They wanted revenge, which meant humiliation in front of the whole school.

Ron sighed glumly. 'Stage B.' 

'You'd better step carefully,' Fred warned them as they finished the breakfast, slightly downcast. Draco was looking over at the Gryffindor table, of course, and was giving them very suspicious looks.

Stage B failed too. Harry and Ron, using the levitation spell, lifted Draco's potions textbook from his bag, so that he was minus his potions textbook in Potions. Snape had said in a fit of anger last lesson, when over half the class had "forgotten" their heavy Potions textbook, that anybody who did not bring his potions textbook to the next lesson would lose fifty points from his house and serve two detentions with him. Unfortunately, Snape didn't turn up to the lesson on Friday, probably doing work for Dumbledore, and instead they had Fleur Delacour who infuriatingly didn't require them once take out their Potions textbook, so that Draco wasn't even aware that his book was missing, just to rub salt into the wounds.

Stage C didn't go too well either. The plan had simply been for Draco to get soaking wet. With the help of Fred and George, they created a rather sophisticated little mini rain cloud to follow him around when they went outdoors for Care of Magical Creatures. The twins had been quite proud of their creation. So proud, that they forgot to realise that this particular plan could easily be overcome, as it was by Draco, who banished the cloud with a lazy, barely visible flick of his wand. The rain cloud began raining on Hagrid's pumpkins instead. The plus from plan C was that the pumpkins needed the rain, so that turned out rather well in the end, although it didn't fulfil the hoped for goal.

'What is Stage D?' Hermione asked curiously.

Harry and Ron gave each other nervous looks. 'It'd be better if you didn't know,' Harry said finally.

Hermione instantly looked at them warily. 'Why?' she asked carefully.

'You might object,' Ron suggested.

'Then you'd better not do it,' Hermione said firmly.

'We need revenge,' Ron shrugged.

'You've been throwing that word around a bit too much lately,' Hermione said acidly.

'We need this revenge,' Harry repeated Ron, completely serious.

Hermione retrieved Draco's potions book from Ron's bag to return to him, and during Care of Magical Creatures, listened as carefully and as inconspicuously as she could to snippets of conversations between Harry and Ron, and finally pieced together their final plan.

And decided she had better lend a hand. It wasn't that extreme, although she would object a little since it was more publicly humiliating as a last-straw-plan than the others. But because she was more than a little annoyed that her friends hadn't wanted to tell her their plans, she followed Draco on the way to the castle after Care of Magical Creatures for lunch.

'Malfoy,' she called him. He was walking alone, having popped off to visit Pegasus first.

He turned. 'Granger?' he asked.

'Missing anything?' Hermione asked him. He frowned.

'Not that I've noticed,' Draco said. Hermione handed back his potions book. 'When did that go missing?' he asked, surprised. Hermione decided it was better not to tell him.

'Er, Draco, don't eat your lunch today,' Hermione said furtively as they parted in the Entrance Hall. Ron and Harry were nowhere in sight, but she still felt slightly guilty, even though she was irritated with them. 'More specifically, don't eat the chips.'

He raised one eyebrow queryingly, but nodded. 'I'll take steps.'

'You do that,' Hermione responded, grinning.

She went into the Great Hall, and sat down near Harry, Ron and the Weasley twins. They were watching Draco carefully, and she nonchalantly began eating her meal of fish and chips. She told herself that it was a good thing she had betrayed (she winced as she thought of that word) her friends, because such a trick could easily be traced back to Harry and Ron and get them into trouble. It was just a bit obvious.

Draco came in accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle, and to Hermione's dismay, began eating, deliberately picking up one of the chips with a fork and sticking it in his mouth. And then another. Hermione stared at him in dismay. Was he mad? Harry and Ron were watching eagerly, as were Fred and George. She tried to catch Draco's eyes, and when he did glance her way, she imagined she saw him wink just slightly. He calculatingly looked at Harry and Ron who were staring at him, and raised one eyebrow, with just a hint of a smirk on his face.

'It's not working!' Ron hissed at Harry.

'I know it's not working,' Harry said, also horrified.

'It was fail-proof,' Fred protested.

'Not any more,' his twin noted dryly.

Grumbling, the foursome continued their lunch, talking in low voices as they did so. Their final stage too, appeared to have failed. What to do?

Their discussion suddenly stopped. Harry and Ron had abruptly jumped up, and ran to the middle of the Great Hall, dancing and singing off-key at the top of their voices. The Gryffindors looked at them in surprise, then began laughing. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw chuckled. Slytherin snickered.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, aghast. Their plan had backfired, and now they couldn't stop dancing and singing. And their dancing and singing were both terrible. And very obvious. 

'When will they stop?' Hermione asked Fred and George, just a little concerned for her friends.

'Another minute,' George said, chortling along with the other Gryffindors. 'How did Malfoy do it?' he wondered out loud, half admiringly.

'Nobody's that good,' Fred grudgingly agreed.

Minute up, Harry and Ron stopped being forced to sing and dance, and they fled, red-faced, back to their seats, amidst huge cheers from the Gryffindors led by Fred and George, who covered the incident up commendably.

'A dare,' the twins explained to all and sundry.

'Bow,' Fred hissed at Harry and Ron.

They looked at him doubtfully.

'Come on,' Fred said impatiently. 'You have to do it with style.'

Sheepishly they did so, forcing grins on their faces, to increased cheers. Once the hullabaloo died down, the four looked at one another.

'What happened?' they said simultaneously.

Hermione decided at this point it would be a good time to leave.

'Granger,' she heard Draco come up behind her in the corridor.

Hermione turned to him. 'How did you do that?' she asked him. 'You didn't go anywhere near Harry and Ron's food!'

'Didn't have to,' Draco smirked, satisfied. 'It was so easy. You told me not to eat the chips, so I knew the kitchens must have been involved. I went to the kitchens, found Dobby, threatened him just a bit, and told him to switch my chips over to their plates. Simple, really.'

'Not bad,' Hermione said, smiling slightly.

His eyes darkened. 'It's interesting though, isn't it, to compare the reactions,' he said lightly. 'Had it been me who had swallowed that spell, I would have been laughed at with derision by the Gryffindors, shame and scorn by the Slytherins, and sneered at by the rest of the school. Interesting, isn't it, Hermione.' His voice was bitter. 'Potter and Weasley just get a few minutes of extra fame.'

Hermione stared at him momentarily, before she lay a hand on his arm. 'Don't think of it like that,' she said, realising how true his words were. She stumbled for something to say, but he spoke.

'Thanks for warning me,' he said, changing his tone of voice.

'You owe me one,' Hermione said flippantly, glad he had changed the subject.

That night in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry and Ron were the subject of much good-natured teasing, and Hermione realised that Draco's words had been very true. She avoided discussion of the events while they all worked, preferring not to reveal her role in their little song-and-dance, and eventually, went to bed, tired after a long day.

Some time during the night, Hermione sat bolt upright in bed, awoken by a strange feeling, her slumber broken abruptly. Something was not quite normal. Something was wrong. Quietly so as not to disturb the other girls in her dormitory, she got up and put on a thick cloak, and then padded downstairs on silent slippered feet. She reached the common room, and started to see Harry sitting by the fire, head bent over his hands, gazing into the flames.

'Harry?'

Harry turned to look at her, and Hermione gasped. His scar was vividly red, a jagged streak on his forehead.

'What is it, Harry?' Hermione asked, voice quiet and frightened. 'What's the matter?'

'Hermione, you shouldn't be here,' Harry said tiredly.

Hermione went over to him and sat down next to him. 'Why are you up?'

He said nothing.

Hermione decided that now was the time to be firm and strict about it all. There had been things Harry hadn't been telling her and Ron, and it was time he did. After all, what were friends for? 'You've been dreaming,' Hermione said flatly.

He gave her a weak smile of affirmation.

'Tell me,' Hermione encouraged.

'No,' Harry said fiercely.

'You have to tell me,' Hermione said, exasperated. 'You've been wandering around the past month or so, obviously not very happy about something. Can't you tell us? We're your friends for a reason'

Harry shook his head, hands holding it up. 'You wouldn't understand, Hermione. I can't tell you this. I can't load everything onto you two.'

'It's Voldemort, right?' Hermione said. She took Harry's hand in hers, and tried to get him to look at her in the eye. 'What has he done?'

Harry's green eyes stared back into her brown eyes, unblinking, before he sighed. The sound was sad, and lost. 'I've been having dreams, ever since the holidays started. First, it was dreams about Cedric's death,' he shuddered. 'I remember it like it was yesterday, and my memory is refreshed, and refreshed nearly every night. And I remember the Hufflepuffs mourning, and Cho crying.'

Cho Chang, the girl who had gone out with Cedric, and whom Harry had had the biggest crush on, no longer attended Hogwarts. She had transferred to Beauxbatons in her grief, a move that significantly increased Hermione's respect for the girl.

Hermione touched him tentatively on the shoulder. 'You couldn't do anything about it,' she tried to comfort him. She felt her efforts were futile – Harry had been dealing with this the whole summer, and she felt helpless. Like she didn't know what to say.

'I should've,' Harry said, angrily. 'I should have just taken the cup. He told me to. I should have listened to him.'

But that wasn't it. There was something more. 'What else have you dreamt about, Harry,' Hermione asked him.

Harry drew back. 'I can't say.'

'Try,' Hermione urged.

Harry looked at her directly in the eyes, the bright green startling her slightly with the flicker of flames. 'It was about you. And Ron.'

'What?' Hermione asked, gripping the sofa underneath her tightly. 'Tell me,' she ordered curtly.

Harry bit his lip. He didn't want to say it, but Hermione's forceful stare left him no choice. 'A dream. I have it as often as the dream about Cedric. You, and Ron. Both of you … lying in a dungeon. It is cold, and dark, and I feel so afraid for you. You are both white with cold …' his voice was almost as if it were in a trance as he recollected the dream. 'Ron has a cut across his forehead, you look like your arm and cheek has been scratched … you both lie, so still … it is as if you were dead …then the scene changes, and you lie alone in the dungeon, and there are tears falling over your face …'

Hermione's blood chilled with this, and she stared at Harry, her eyes wide with fear. 'What does it mean?' she whispered. 'Is it a premonition?'

'No!' Harry snapped. 'It cannot, will not be.' He stared again into the fire, the firelight shining off the lenses of his glasses.

All of Hermione's old qualms came back. That Voldemort would try to attack Harry by attacking his best friends. Was this a vision of the future? Was this what Voldemort was planning? Or was it merely an attempt to psychologically and mentally shake Harry up? Hermione was completely unsure, but the only way she could help Harry, was to act like she were convinced it were the latter.

'Harry, Voldemort is just trying to scare you,' she said, voice firmer than she had ever imagined possible.

'And you are just trying to comfort me,' Harry said, voice slightly muffled, seeing through her ploy.

'No,' Hermione said steadily. She had to convince herself to convince him. 'Voldemort is just trying make you mentally unbalanced,' she said it more bluntly than she had intended. 'He knows you're a caring person. He knows nothing would hurt you more than to see your friends in a helpless position. So he tries to make you think that we're in danger.'

'Hermione, the dreams are very realistic,' Harry said, voice dead.

'All the more to terrify you. And it's worked,' Hermione warmed to her case. 'That's why you keep dreaming of Cedric over and over. They're sent by Voldemort. And these dreams too. All of them – they're there to unsettle you. Dreams of you being tortured or something wouldn't worry you,' she said confidently. 'What would, would be dreams of your friends being hurt. Of others being hurt indirectly by you. And Voldemort knows that. So he's attacking your vulnerable side with dreams. Which is clever,' she conceded, 'but not clever enough. He's overdone it, so that it made others notice it, like me'

Harry looked at her, and the light that shone on her face. He smiled slightly. She looked almost angelic in her conviction. 'You really believe that,' he said, voice more alive.

Hermione nodded decisively. 'Because it is true,' she told him. She even believed it, for a while, if only to convince Harry.

'Have you told anybody? Sirius, Professor Dumbledore? Professor Figg?' she asked.

Harry shook his head. 'I was thinking of trying to contact Sirius when you came,' he gestured to the fireplace. 'I kept thinking I should tell the Order, but I never did,' his voice trailed off.

'The Order?' Hermione asked quickly. Why was she always trying to prise information off Harry?

Harry blinked. 'It's supposed to be secret.'

'Not any more it isn't,' Hermione said quickly.

Harry shrugged. 'Dumbledore did say I could mention it to you and Ron if you ever asked.' Hermione cursed herself for not asking earlier. 'The Order of the Phoenix has thirteen members. It was set up by Dumbledore, and is basically his closest gathering of people to help in the fight against Voldemort. It's top secret, theoretically.'

'Who's in it?' Hermione asked, fascinated.

'Sirius, Lupin, Mrs Figg,' Harry began. Hermione smiled to hear him still call her by his childhood term. 'Moody – the real one, Snape, McGonagall, and some others as well.'

'So why do you know about them?' Hermione inquired.

'You know that day after the Quidditch trials when Sirius led me away from you and Ron?'

Hermione remembered.

'He took me to the Order of the Phoenix meeting. They wanted me to talk about last year, and who I had seen and everything. It seems they think I could be a link with Voldemort, because of my scar,' he gestured towards it. 'So, I told them all I could. They're trying to find the location of Voldemort's power base.'

'Good luck,' Hermione noted.

'They'd need it,' Harry agreed. 'I've been to a few of their meetings. Sometimes they describe somebody, and I'd remember them, or something like that. It's all terribly essential stuff, I suppose.' He sighed then. 'Today was nice,' he said, a wistful smile on his face.

'In what way?' Hermione asked him.

'It was so, normal. You know – just playing tricks on other people. Not worrying about the fate of the world. Not having an evil dark wizard breathing down your neck. Even dancing about in the Great Hall was fun,' he said, giving a wry laugh. 'You had something to do with it, didn't you? I noticed your avoiding the topic,' his green eyes twinkled.

Hermione's heart lifted. Harry was better. 'Maybe,' she said, pretending to hide her involvement.

'Don't worry, I won't bug you,' Harry assured. 'I wish everyday could be like that.' His forehead creased with thought. 'Wouldn't it be nice to be somebody whose every day were like that? To not worry about anything except for school work, to have fun playing pranks, having fun with friends, instead of dreaming nightmares for them?' His voice was dreamy as his green eyes stared, unfocused, into the fire.

'Once Voldemort is gone, life will be like that again,' Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady. She felt tears pricking up in her eyes hearing Harry talk so.

'You should go back to bed,' Harry advised. He stood up, and offered her a hand, which she took. They headed to the stairs.

'Thank you,' he said simply to Hermione.

Hermione nodded, hugged him briefly, eyes wet, then went back up to her dormitory. Harry's dream plagued her thoughts. Now that she no longer needed to convince Harry, her real opinions on the dream kept her awake for much of the remaining night.

Author's note: I thought I'd better mention now that I've been borrowing unconsciously certain styles of speaking and phrases from the fantastic series _The Belgariad_ and associated books by David and Leigh Eddings. My mistake, but I love these books so much, the sayings just crept in! This series is truly wonderful, and I would recommend it to anybody who hasn't read them.

And thank you so much Cinammon and Lady Prongs! Reviews are so encouraging.


	8. Pre Christmas Buzz

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, and you know that … so why get fussed?

Chapter 8 – Pre-Christmas Buzz

Hermione tacked up one last poster on the walls of Hogwarts advertising the details of the Christmas Ball, to be held on Christmas Day. The poster warned those who came that they wouldn't be permitted without a costume of some sort. It also informed students that the entry fee had been raised from last year (a fact that had caused some irritation among the more tight-fisted), because the Prefects had decided it would be a good idea to also raise some extra funds to donate to the children's section of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies.

When Dumbledore had finally informed the school of the Ball yesterday, there had been, as expected, reactions of happiness, anticipation and excitement. Ron had groaned, turned red, and glanced over at Hermione all in quick succession, a fact that caused Hermione to smile just a little, remembering last year's Yule Ball.

Harry's voice spoke softly into Hermione's ear while others chattered excitedly. 'It's for our protection,' he said quietly. He had taken to confiding more in Hermione ever since that night when he had told Hermione of his nightmarish dreams, a fact that Hermione appreciated greatly.

'What?' Hermione asked, looking at him in surprise.

'The Ball. Professor Dumbledore wanted to keep as many of us at Hogwarts over the Christmas, so that we won't be vulnerable to Voldemort,' Harry explained in an undertone. 'It was actually Remus' idea,' Harry added. 'He raised the idea in one of the earlier Order meetings.'

Hermione nodded. Of course, she should have realised that. The fact that the Ball was held _on_ Christmas Day in the middle of the holidays should have told her that. Last year, the Yule Ball and Triwizard Tournament had meant that most students had remained at Hogwarts. This Christmas Ball should do the same, for most would hate to miss it.

Now, though, the Prefects were very busy with organisational duties on top of their school work and normal prefect duties. Enlisting the aid of non-Prefect Dean Thomas, they had managed to come up with several artistic posters, which Hermione, using some trickly little charms, managed to highlight using a few charms, so that words would flash brightly, or some Christmas songs would sound from the poster. With a simple replication spell, several copies were made that were put up about the school.

All the Prefects were assigned aspects of the Ball to organise. Hermione had been put in charge of the financial aspect of the ball, and as the money for tickets came in, she had to arrange for all the money to be sent to the band, decorators etc., and also the money to be put aside to send to St Mungo's. The Prefects also decided to provide food for themselves, and give the House Elves a rest. That particular decision was mostly brought about at Hermione's insistence.

In addition to the Costume Ball though, which was only available for fourth years and above, there was a Muggle-themed Christmas Dance for the younger students which ended at ten o'clock, to be held in a conveniently large room which Hermione had never known about, somewhere in the big castle. This would hopefully keep younger students at school.

'Okay, prefects,' Head Boy Cameron Eddy looked at them from a roster sheet two weeks before the Ball was to take place during one of their Prefect meetings. He was a tall Slytherin with light golden-brown hair, who was surprisingly decent. Hermione, after meeting the Slytherin prefects, realised that not _every _witch and wizard from Slytherin was Dark and evil. Yes, those who were, came only from Slytherin, and not the other Houses, but many were just normal witches and wizards. After all, Snape wasn't a Dark wizard. He was quite the opposite. 'We have here the roster times for you people.'

The prefects groaned good-naturedly in unison, slouched about as they were in the Prefect's Common Room – a room that had been set aside for them to have their meetings in and complete with comfortable sofas, cushions and chairs to sit in, and, very conveniently, a magical drinks dispenser that allowed them to sip on hot cups of coffee or cocoa while meeting. The fireplace crackled warmly, and the small Christmas tree a couple of Hufflepuff Prefects had put up shone merrily, putting all the Prefects into pleasant moods.

'Each of you have been assigned to help set up either the Costume Ball or the Christmas Dance,' Frances Bennings, the Head Girl instructed. She was a Ravenclaw, with dark brown hair and eyes. 'Then, during the dance, you will each have to take out one hour to supervise the Christmas Dance. You'll be there for the end of the Costume Ball though, since the Christmas Dance does finish earlier, so don't worry about missing that last slow dance or something.'

'What about cleaning up?' a Hufflepuff prefect asked. Trust a Hufflepuff to ask that.

'Unfortunately,' Cameron made a face, 'we're not allowed to leave until we've cleaned up the Costume Ball. The Christmas Dance can wait, since that room isn't usually used, but the Great Hall is needed for breakfast the day after.'

'If we can get up,' another Prefect muttered. They laughed.

'We'll clean up the Christmas Dance on Boxing Day in the afternoon, and after that, it's celebrations at the Three Broomsticks for us!' Frances said, grinning. 'We've put in enough work!' There was a general cheer at that.

'So, here's the roster,' Frances began reading from the list Cameron held.

Hermione nodded and wrote down her duties so as not to forget them. She was to help set up the food for the Christmas Dance, and during the Costume Ball, spend the third hour keeping an eye out at the Dance, nothing too worrying, and began looking forward to the Costume Ball very much. 

Winter approached in full force, and snow drifted lazily over the school, blanketing Hogwarts snowily white. Classes were nearly at an end, they finished a week before Christmas, and the teachers were getting a little slacker with the onset of the holiday spirit, although lessons still continued doggedly. Bill had left Hogwarts, and had been replaced with Alastor Moody, but not before managing to spread several rumours about the nature of his relationship with a certain assistant, who had long, silvery-blond hair. The rumours had resulted in many first years sneaking gleefully around the corridors in an attempt to catch the oldest Weasley sibling alone with Fleur Delacour.

During this pre-holiday season, Hermione's favourite and most interesting class had to be Care of Magical Creatures. The freezing cold students had assembled at Hagrid's hut, teeth chattering and all longing to be back inside their warm common rooms, when Hagrid had come out of his hut, and instructed them to build a huge bonfire crawling with salamanders.

'Build it up high,' Hagrid roared, and the class threw on the huge logs of wood. It was hot, and the salamanders perched on the crumbling wood, happily basking in the fire. The students gladly warmed their gloved fingers at the fire, and chattered to each other, faces aglow with the red gold flames, while they watched the scampering salamanders.

'They're cute,' Hermione observed to Draco, who was standing next to her. 

Draco nodded, smiling a little. Then, his forehead furrowed slightly in concentration and the bonfire flickering and dancing in his normally cold grey eyes, he reached forward to pick up one of the salamanders. What made Hermione gasp though, was the fact that he had reached _into _the fire to pick up the magical creature.

'The fire's hot,' she whispered to Draco frantically. He hadn't cast any flame-freezing spells, or anything, but had just stuck his hand into the fire. His hand, Hermione remembered, had glowed just slightly when he put it in and contacted the salamander.

Draco looked at the salamander in his completely healthy hand bemusedly. 'It is, rather, isn't it.'

Hermione reached forward a finger to touch the salamander tentatively, and then jerked her finger back rapidly. 'That thing's burning hot!' she exclaimed, face flushed.

Draco half-smirked. 'Badger says sorry,' he said, voice saintly.

'Tell Badger he'd better be,' Hermione answered back, annoyed, before asking curiously. 'Badger? What sort of a name is that?'

'He's always wanted to be a badger, apparently,' Draco commented, one hand stroking the salamander. 'So he took on the name. He's very proud of it,' he added, 'so don't insult him. He thinks it's quite original too. Most of his relatives are named after stars and constellations. His father's called Sagittarius, his mother is Andromeda, and his uncle's Dipper.'

Hermione snorted with laughter at this, then stopped abruptly, as she saw Hagrid stomping in their direction to check the notes they were supposed to be writing on the salamanders. 'Er, Malfoy, you'd better put Badger back,' she muttered to Draco.

Draco sighed. 'Good bye,' he said, patting that incandescently hot skin in farewell, and dropped Badger back into the bonfire just as Hagrid arrived.

That night, Hermione was sitting in the noisy and boisterous Common Room, busily working on some Arithmancy assignments, when Ginny bounced up and sat down next to her.

'What is it, Ginny?' Hermione asked, not looking up, busily completing some writing about Animagi for Transfiguration. Their class was to be tested on Animagi after the Christmas break, and Hermione hoped fervently she would be one of those who had a natural ability at Transfiguration.

'I think somebody's going to get asked to go to the Costume Ball,' Ginny said, with a sing-song voice, her face holding a slightly secretive smile.

'Who?' Hermione asked absently as she carefully blotted the paragraph she had written so that the ink would not run.

Ginny gave her a surprised look. 'You don't know?'

Hermione glanced up at her quizzically. 'Am I supposed to?'

'Oh. I don't know,' Ginny changed her conversation path. 'Are you taking anyone?'

A look of startlement crossed Hermione's face. 'I hadn't thought about that bit of the Ball yet,' she admitted. She had been a bit wrapped up in the organisational aspect of the Costume Ball.

'That much,' Ginny shook her head, 'is obvious.'

'Who are you taking?' Hermione asked the red-head, even as she pondered the subject of a date for herself.

'Colin asked me this morning,' Ginny said, voice neutral as she named one of her second year classmates.

'You've got a date already?' Hermione asked, sounding astonished.

'There are only two weeks until the Ball,' Ginny reminded.

'Oh dear,' Hermione said in a worried tone.

'In fact,' Ginny said, her face going slightly red, 'Harry got a date faster than you this year. He's taking Lisa Turpin, you know, in Ravenclaw. She asked, and he had no objections.' Her speech grew faster as she went, hurrying into a tumble.

'What?' Hermione asked, dismayed.

'Harry's going with Lisa,' Ginny repeated. She was staring at her feet now, her face flaming red.

'Who am I going to go with?' Hermione wrung her hands. The situation was turning serious.

'You were planning to go with Harry?' Ginny looked up abruptly. Her normally gentle brown eyes were piercingly direct as they stared at Hermione.

Hermione shook her head vigorously. 'No! Of course not!' she denied, unable to hide the small flush that came to her face. Of course she wasn't planning to take Harry. And why would she want to anyway? Feeling she had been silent too long, she spoke again. 'But there are only two weeks left! I'm sure everyone has already been sorted out and I'm the only one who's dateless.'

It sounded valid, and the comfortably smug smile reappeared on Ginny's face. 'Ron doesn't have a date yet,' she said innocently. 'And he's currently standing in front of the Fat Lady screwing up the courage to ask a certain somebody who's sitting in front of me to the Ball.'

Hermione smiled widely. 'You really think he'll ask me?' she asked Ginny.

Ginny nodded, grinning back.

At that moment, Harry and Ron walked into the Common Room. Ginny left discreetly, and went to the other side of the Common Room to talk with her fellow fourth-year Gryffindor friends.

'Hermione,' Harry said, smiling to see her, while Ron went a little green. Harry stopped then, mid-pace. 'Er, hang on,' he said. 'I-I've just remembered. I've left my, er, book in the library. Have to go get it,' he grinned, gave Ron an encouraging smile, and dashed back out of the common room.

Hermione watched Harry go, a small smile on her face. Harry was a terrible liar. He was just too … _honest_, especially to his friends. He couldn't keep the fact that he was lying from his face. Even as her eyes followed Harry, she realised that Ron was watching her, slightly apprehensively, and turned back to him, a questioning look in her eyes.

'Er, Hermione,' Ron began apprehensively.

Hermione waited patiently as Ron swallowed more air.

'Do you, I mean, d'you want to g-go to the ball with, with me?' Ron asked. His voice was very nervous, and sounded ready to break, and although Hermione found the situation rather amusing, thought it would be better not to laugh and completely destroy any confidence Ron had mustered up.

She put him out of his misery. 'I'd be glad to, Ron,' she said sincerely.

Ron breathed a rather obvious sigh of relief, and sank into the sofa next to her. 'Thank goodness.' The task over, he looked completely relaxed, with the colour returning to his face.

'Just tell me one thing, though,' Hermione began teasingly. 'Who did you ask first before you asked me?'

Ron looked alarmed, his face going red, and then smiled broadly, realising she was having him on. 'About the whole school, Hermione,' he said, grinning. 'The whole bloody school. You were the last resort, of course.'

They both laughed, remembering last year's Yule Ball, as Harry re-entered the Common Room. A quick glance reassured him that things were fine, and face beaming, he sat down with his two friend. 'All set?' he enquired.

They nodded, grinning. 'Right, then, if you don't mind, Ron, we'd better look into our Quidditch strategies,' Harry said pointedly, in a voice that said very clearly "back to business."

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Quidditch!_

The moment the two boys moved from Hermione, Ginny darted over swiftly, and stood before the fifth-year. 'Unless I'm greatly mistaken, I believe a certain, sometimes thick-headed, boy just asked _you_ to the Costume Ball,' she said extravagantly.

Hermione smiled, and nodded.

'And you accepted the offer,' Ginny continued, eyes sparkling.

Hermione nodded yet again.

Ginny gave up her grandiose pose, and sat down. 'What did he say?' she asked eagerly.

' "Hermione, do you want to go to the ball with me?" ' Hermione quoted Ron, editorially removing the stuttering and hesitations that had accompanied Ron's speech. 'He was really nervous,' she added, smiling.

Ginny shook her head disapprovingly. 'I'm going to have to have a talk with Ron about that,' she said. 'He could be a bit more romantic.'

'Honestly, we're only going to the Ball together,' Hermione said fairly. 'It's not like he's asking me to marry him.'

'Still …' Ginny screwed up her face in dissatisfaction.

'I was fine with it,' Hermione added.

Ginny continued her post-mortem on the "asking." 'So he asked you, and you said–?' she prompted.

' "I'd be glad to," ' Hermione quoted herself this time.

Ginny smiled. 'Oh, that's so sweet,' she cooed.

Hermione looked at her dubiously. 'Why are you so interested in this?'

Ginny gave her an incredulous look, and seeing Hermione's complete cluelessness, took pain to explain. 'Well, firstly, whenever _anyone_ gets asked out, I just _have_ to find out!' Ginny squealed, sounding remarkably like Lavender or Parvati. 'And your case is especially special. Ron _is_ my brother, Hermione.'

Hermione raised her brow. 'And?'

'And I'm concerned for his welfare. He obviously likes you, and I think you do too – you know, you argue all the time, which is a sign of repressed sexual tension,' the smaller girl giggled wickedly, anticipating Hermione's outburst.

'_What?_' Hermione demanded, sitting up straight.

'You heard me,' Ginny said, shrugging nonchalantly, and imitating Hermione's previously cool pose.

'You've been reading too much _Teen Witch Weekly_,' Hermione said, frowning. 'That stuff's nonsense. Besides, Ron and I haven't been picking many fights this year.'

'That's because you've resolved your differences,' Ginny said, smiling beatifically.

Hermione shook her head, letting the girl fantasise as she wished.

'So, Hermione. _What _are you going to go as?' Ginny asked pensively.

Thus started the complete dilemma about a costume, for it was a Costume Ball. Ginny too had absolutely no idea, wanting something original, and Hermione quickly realised she had no idea what she wanted to dress up as.

A week later, and with a week to go until the Ball, the two girls were still stuck for an idea, despite the hours spent brainstorming during the holidays.

'Nooooo,' Ginny moaned as she slumped onto the couch next to Hermione. 'I still have no idea what to go as!'

'All I know for certain is that I'm not going as a princess,' Hermione said sourly, looking up from a book on Animagi.

'Or a Goddess, or a fairy,' Ginny added. 'Can you believe that every girl in my dormitory is either going as one of those aforementioned?'

'And mine,' Hermione grimaced. 'Lavender and Parvati are still trying to come up with tiaras that look like they have real diamonds. They even dared to ask me for help,' she huffed.

It was true. Everyone Hermione had overheard in her Common Room or dormitory discussing the Costume Ball was going as a princess. Not too bad. But many of the girls were just going to wear contemporary dress-robes, not actual Princess gowns, or fairy costumes (the fairies wore dress-robes and added wings). It was disgusting … didn't they understand what costume meant? Disappointed, Hermione labelled this dilemma in her mind as "Princess-syndrome."

'Aren't they worried that they'll all look like clones?' Ginny demanded. 'Is there not one spark of originality or individuality in this place?' she added dramatically.

'Obviously not,' Hermione said dryly, and sighed. 'Help me. I need a costume.'

'I do too,' Ginny said plaintively, and they continued to wrack their brains for ideas the whole entire afternoon, but none of the ideas they came up with seemed good or possible.

That night, Hermione went down to Hagrid's hut to visit Pegasus. Draco had told her he was going to fly Pegasus that night, and Hermione had decided she would like to join him. Flying on Pegasus was exhilaratingly fun, even though it was a tad bit cold.

'Hermione,' Hagrid noticed her coming down from where he sat, having a cup of tea in his home. 'Goin' flyin' again with Malfoy?'

He knew about her flying expeditions. Hermione had flown Pegasus several times since the first incident, which Hagrid had witnessed. After a couple of times, Draco asked Hagrid formally for permission to ride the winged horses, an incident Hermione recalled well.

'How do yer do it?' Hagrid had asked, with gruff curiosity, trying not to look too interested as he slopped water into large bowls for the resident kneazles to drink.

Draco eyed Hagrid warily. 'It's a knack I have,' he said finally, unwilling to disclose information. He had been unwilling to even ask Hagrid for permission, but Hermione had nagged him until he finally did, "just to get her to shut up about it."

Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. 'Go ahead. It'd do them good to stretch their wings.'

Draco and Hermione had flown the other three horses as well, but Hermione liked Pegasus best. Pegasus was much smoother in flight, more beautiful, much more fun to ride. Now, mounted on Pegasus with Draco and swooping through the crispy night air, Hermione began talking, and with nothing else to talk about, began discussing her week-long problem.

'Have you figured out your costume for the Ball?' she asked Draco as a way to begin.

Draco nodded. 'Yes,' he said shortly while directing Pegasus towards the Forbidden Forrest.

'Drats,' Hermione said. Ginny and herself looked like the only ones still floundering for ideas. 'I'm still having trouble with a costume idea,' she added.

'What have you tried as sources of inspiration?' he asked her, as he controlled Pegasus from doing cartwheels in the air.

'Nothing really,' Hermione admitted, twisting a bit of Pegasus' shining white mane in her fingers. 'I'm starting to wish that we hadn't agreed on a Costume Ball,' she groaned. 'Why did we have to try and be creative?'

'I'll be sure to tell Cameron and Frances,' Draco said lightly. The costume idea had been the Headboy and Headgirl's, and the Prefects had enthusiastically agreed to their plan.

They flew on for a moment in silence, eyes watching the glistening, silvery countryside. 'Who are you going with?' Draco asked presently.

'Huh? Who I'm going with? Ron,' Hermione answered absently as she gazed at the small pinpricks of starlight that had begun to appear in the sky.

'Oh.'

They flew for a few more minutes in silence. 'What about literature?' he suggested.

'What?' Hermione asked, surprised, jolted out of her star-gazing.

'Is there some book or play with a character you could dress up as?' he asked her.

Hermione sat quietly, thinking, then smiled. 'That's a good idea. I'll look into it. Maybe some Shakespeare? Or Jane Austen?' she began pondering out loud.

Draco, meanwhile, grinned at her, a trifle arrogantly. 'I always have good ideas.'

'I'm not so sure about that,' Hermione teased.

He pretended to look offended. 'Isn't flying Pegasus a good idea?' he challenged.

'The only one you've ever had,' she said, grinning at him mischievously.

Draco sniffed. 'I'll have you know that we of the wizarding blood _always _have good ideas,' he said pompously. 'Unlike muggles,' he added under his breath.

Hermione frowned at the extra comment, wishing he hadn't said it. She had thought Draco's prejudiced attitude might have changed, but it didn't seem so, not with that derogatory comment towards Muggles. The rest of the flight continued in silence, and they landed and stabled Pegasus again speaking little, before they began walking back to the castle.

Hermione walked along, snow crunching under her feet. _Crunch_, _crunch_, _crunch_, _crunch_ … 'do you ever get bothered by the fact that I'm Muggleborn?' she said abruptly.

Draco blinked, the suddenness of the question surprising him, before he frowned, his grey eyes darkening with shadow. 'I'm trying not to think about it.'

Hermione clucked exasperatedly, and forcibly restrained herself from speaking. _Crunch, crunch, crunch _… 'I can't believe you, Draco,' she burst out. She couldn't help it. 'You're one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. You understand difficult concepts quickly. You get good marks, you've read widely. But you still get prejudiced about something like that. And I'm a Muggle-born,' Hermione's voice rose. She was getting worked up. 'Am I any less magical than a pureblood?' she demanded. 'Am I worse?' She stopped in the middle of her stride.

'I don't hold anything against you,' Draco said hastily, stopping too and facing her.

'Then what about my family? They're all Muggles,' Hermione demanded. He said nothing, but his face twisted, and Hermione could see the repulsion he felt towards her Muggle parents in his face.

She stared at him fiercely. 'You're a bigoted idiot, just like your father,' Hermione said, voice disgusted. 

Draco's eyes flashed. 'You don't understand, Granger,' he retorted, his use of her last name hurting Hermione to the core. 'I've been trained to believe what I believe for fifteen years. I think that ingrains certain things in you pretty deep, don't you? I have been listening to my father, the man I respected for fifteen years, about this subject almost non-stop. I have been under his influence for a long time – I think talking to you was a big step. I can't change my beliefs just like that,' he snapped his fingers, grey eyes cold.

Hermione looked at him, disappointed. 'I thought you were better than that,' she said, sadly, brown eyes reproachful. They walked the last remaining steps to the Entrance Hall, and then left him in silence, making her way back to the Gryffindor Tower.

After fuming for a few moments, in which she sat on a couch, face hard, eyes stinging, she began to think of her earlier conversation with Draco. His words had given her food for thought. _Literature_, Draco had said. She'd give him literature.

Hermione had intended to get a Christmas gift for Draco that Christmas, but had had difficulty deciding on something. Now, a plan for something she felt was decidedly suitable began to formulate in her mind as she sat, lost in thought, as the common room bustled around her noisily.

'Hermione! Have you thought of a costume yet?' Ginny had burst into the common room and, seeing the older girl, came up to her.

Hermione blinked, then half-nodded. 'I've been thinking of using something from a book or something.'

'A book?' Ginny queried doubtfully. She shrugged. 'Well, I've decided on my costume,' she said, grinning proudly.

'Oh?'

'You're addressing the Pirate Queen of the High Oceans,' Ginny said grandly, pretending to wave a quill she picked up from a nearby table in her hand like a cutlass, and waved it about, giggling a little.

'You're going as a pirate?' Hermione asked incredulously.

Ginny nodded, dropping the wind-blown and ruined quill back onto the table. 

'This sudden decision wouldn't perchance have anything to do with Harry's statement that he was dressing up as a pirate, now, would it?' Hermione observed slyly.

Ginny flushed. 'Of course not,' she denied, and regained her calm with dignity. 'I was looking through some picture books in the library, and I thought it would be very interesting. Colourful. Has a bang to it.'

Hermione nodded. Ginny's idea wasn't bad, but she couldn't resist teasing the red-head.

'I still need a costume though. I was thinking of visiting Hogsmeade tomorrow and doing some more Christmas shopping, and also browse around. I think they have a costume store there. You want to come along?'

Hermione agreed. After all, she still needed a costume, and maybe she could find her Christmas gift for Draco there.

Thanks for the reviews! I love reading them, and they're sooo encouraging (hint hint, look at button down the bottom).

Lady Prongs – I think they've given up on their revenge. I've told them to. But then again, Harry and Ron can be stubborn sometimes (roll eyes), especially regarding a certain blond Slytherin. Who knows what they'll do. :)

Elven Ice Angel – thank you! You like LotR too? I am a huge fan, but I'm not trying LotR fanfic yet. I know there's no way I could write Tolkien-style (it can be _just_ a bit dry and boring) but I'm not sure how I'd write it yet. I am into Tolkien-accuracy though (although I love the rather inaccurate films), so I'm not too sure your fic would suit me. However, I'll read your fic the moment I can. Right now, I'm trying to finish this fic as fast as possible before the next Harry Potter book comes out.

Cinnamon – Malfoy _is_ a brilliant character in the world of fanfic, isn't he. I wish JKR would do something about her currently one-dimensional Malfoy. (But that's probably an empty wish!)


	9. Merry Christmas

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: It's not mine. Now that things are all clear and sorted out, read on …

Chapter 9 – Merry Christmas

On the morning of December the twenty-fifth, at about half past six, Hermione Granger woke up. She couldn't sleep any more, filled with anticipation as she was about presents, and of course, the Costume Ball, which, now that she had her costume and date sorted out, was actually beginning to look enticing. Hermione grinned to see the reasonably sized pile of presents on her bed for her, and sat up yawning. The presents looked very promising, with packages, as she scanned them, from her family, relatives, and friends. Tearing her attention away from the presents, she glanced around the dormitory, and felt very snug and comfortable, with the festive sprigs of holly, tinsel and beads hung around the dormitory. The other girls lay asleep still, with their piles of presents waiting to be opened.

Tempted as she was to discover the contents of the colourfully wrapped packages, Hermione stood up, pulling on a warm robe, and walked quietly over to the window of her dormitory to look outside at the glistening, snow-covered landscape. The sun had just begun to rise. It was not yet visible, but rays of pure gold peeked over just slightly, with the promise of banishing cold darkness and night. The scene was so still and beautiful that Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of the natural splendour, when she saw a white-blond head atop a starkly contrasting black cloak trudging through the snow towards Hagrid's hut. Draco was evidently visiting Pegasus.

After looking at Draco contemplatively for a moment or two, a wry smile appeared on Hermione's face, and she came to a decision quickly. Although the fifth year girls' dormitory was warm, with the fire giving out wonderfully cosy flames of heat, she pulled off her pyjamas quickly, and changed swiftly into casual clothes. Then, she picked up a slender package that sat next to her bed, placed it under one arm, and slipped out of the dormitory, common room, and castle, into the cold wintry morning.

Even though her cloak was tied securely, and she wore very warm layers of clothing under it, Hermione still felt extremely cold as she made her way across the snow to the stables. The biting cold whipped her freezing face, and she burrowed her nose under her scarf in an attempt to keep warm her nose from falling off frozen.

Fortunately, it did not take long to reach the stables, and as she entered, she saw Draco leaning against the door to Pegasus' stall, watching her impassively. Once inside, she quickly closed the door against the cold, and removed her cloak. The stables were much warmer than outside, being spelled to provide warmth for the animals, a fact which made her feel very grateful as she rubbed warmth back into her cold limbs, even as she turned to face Draco.

'Malfoy,' Hermione said, guardedly. She hadn't spoken more than two words to Draco since their last flight on Pegasus, which had ended in arguments about blood purity.

'Granger.' His expression was unreadable, making Hermione uncomfortable. Draco had the unnerving ability to make his face as mask-like as can be, and he utilised that to its full extent, making both of them step awkwardly about each other on this Christmas day. 'I thought I'd find you here.'

Hermione hesitated, pondering his comment, then spoke. 'Merry Christmas.' She paused. 'You do believe in God and goodwill, don't you?' She found it difficult to believe that Lucius Malfoy could believe in God, when he was so cold heartedly cruel, although priests and bishops in the past had done various cruel deeds while still believing fanatically in God.

'Yeah,' Draco said slowly, his voice thawing just a bit. 'Merry Christmas.' A few months ago, before fifth year had started, Hermione would _never _have imagined in her wildest dreams that she would ever hear Draco Malfoy say that phrase of goodwill, let alone directed at her.

Hermione held out the slender package she had carried with her from her dormitory, almost like a token of peace. It was wrapped in cheerfully bright red Christmas paper, with a charming golden ribbon tied about it. Belatedly, she realised that they were Gryffindor colours, but hid her sudden grin. 'I thought you might like this,' she said shyly to him. She had no idea what his reaction to her gift would be.

Draco did not smile, but he did accept the present, holding it in his long-fingered hands, eyes on it curiously. There was an awkward silence. 'Unwrap it,' Hermione said impulsively, eager for his reaction.

He glanced up at her from his studied perusal of the gaily coloured gift, and did as she said, pulled away the red paper and golden ribbon to uncover her choice of present: a lovely hardback edition of _To Kill a Mockingbird _by Harper Lee. Hermione had managed to find in a bookstore that also stocked Muggle books in Hogsmeade. On the title page, she had written a short note:

__

Draco,

I hope you will enjoy reading this book. Please understand.

Merry Christmas,

Hermione Granger

'What is this?' he asked, grey eyes looking up at her, voice a little confused, but not seething with anger as she had feared he may have reacted, unsure as she was.

'It's a Muggle book, but, well, it's my favourite, after _Emma_. I thought you might like it. It would be an interesting read. My mother suggested it to me when I was younger,' Hermione said almost stumbling over her words with timidity, eyes ridiculously terrified of meeting his. 'Won't you read it?'

'I'll try,' Draco said, scrutinising the book as if perplexed as to how he should treat this Muggle object.

His lack of speech made Hermione continue talking nervously. 'If you don't understand the Muggle terms, you can check them up in the library. They have a good book there, _All Things Muggle_ by Jeremy Harrington. But then again, this book's written by an American author, and set in America, so maybe _The American History of_–' Hermione rambled nervously.

'Hermione,' Draco stopped her rushing tumble of words. 'Thank you.' He sounded sincere, and he gave her a small smile, which warmed Hermione significantly. Then, he reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small package of his own. 'This is for you.'

Hermione took the package, delighted that he was actually voluntarily giving her a gift. The small packet was wrapped in silvery tissue paper, and after glancing at him briefly, she pulled away the covering to reveal a fairly long, delicate necklace made of a softly luminous silver. At the end of the thin chain, was a small thin ring of the same silvery metal, and twisted around this ring, were two very thin strands of twisted metal. One of the strands was a beautiful white-gold, the other, a darker, deep bronze colour. They intertwined around the ring, their metallic tendrils carefully placed.

'It's beautiful,' Hermione whispered, gazing at the necklace. It wasn't something of a conventional beauty, like a diamond or something, but in its own way, was enchanting. 'I didn't expect anything from you,' she said honestly.

'It's nothing,' Draco muttered, sounding embarrassed, but also pleased with the way Hermione obviously treasured the gift. Hermione, holding the band of silver with its thin twisting strands of metal carefully, felt differently. In some peculiar way, it was special. Maybe it was an expensive metal, but that was not the issue in this particular case, given the famous Malfoy family wealth. In some other way, it felt singularly unique, like it was the only one of its kind. She couldn't place what exactly, but it _felt_ different …

'It's not cursed or anything, is it, Malfoy?' Hermione asked suspiciously, trying to figure out what was that vague feeling she had about the gift.

He gave a short laugh. 'O ye of little faith,' he said mockingly as he shook his head, a smile on his lips. 'It's not hexed, jinxed, cursed, charmed or spelled in any way or form that I am aware of.' Seeing the inkling of doubt had not yet receded from her face, he added, 'I should know. I made it, in a way.'

'You made it?' Hermione asked, sceptically.

He nodded, almost defensively. 'Yes,' he said coolly, one eyebrow raised.

'That's amazing,' Hermione said impressed, believing his words. Then, curiously, 'how?'

'Magic. How else?' Draco said carelessly, imprecisely, and without really answering Hermione's question.

Hermione pulled off her scarf, and put on the necklace, the little catch locking easily. She tucked it into her clothing, the ring hidden from view against her skin, and smiled at Draco. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome.' Draco smiled back, and Hermione felt all was well again with the world. Well, until she found out his reaction after reading the book.

Hermione returned to her dormitory, and opened her other presents. They were lovely. Her parents had given her some books and clothes that she had wanted, and she received assorted trinkets and articles of clothing from various relatives and friends. Mrs Weasley had sent her some home-made fudge, and gloves she had knitted herself, while Ron had given her a book she had told him she had wanted, and then, in an obvious attempt to be romantic, added a bunch of sweet-smelling flowers as well. Harry had given her a pretty vase of some blue-green crystal which was not too big, and had been engraved at the base ('_from your friend, Harry, 1995_'). In the card, he mentioned she could start off the life of the vase by putting Ron's flowers into them, which she did at once. Although she liked the gifts very much, none of them seemed quite as precious as Draco's necklace, which she touched comfortingly.

Christmas Day was spent pleasantly enough. They ate a hearty breakfast after opening their presents, then headed outdoors. Since virtually the whole school was there, the grounds of Hogwarts was filled with students holding snowball fights and building snowmen.

Snowball fights continued escalating in scale, until there were finally four large snowforts for each of the Houses, with large-scale House battles. Eventually, those not fighting became busy fashioning not snowmen but sophisticated sculptures, with the aid of a bit of magic to hold up this bit, to make another part support itself, to get just the right shape, and all other ways in which magic could be helpful.

Hermione, after being hit by a too-enthusiastic first year student, decided not to join in the Snow Wars, as they had been dubbed unanimously by the Muggle students, and instead wandered along the sculptors, admiring, and laughing at, the exhibition of snow shapes. After failures from several of the students to make their creations stand, they joined forces for house against house. Dean directed the Gryffindor creation, which featured a wonderful, big sculpture of a proud lion. The Ravenclaws used all their cleverness to create a snow replica of Hogwarts, while the Hufflepuffs' attempts to create a snow tower failed miserably but caused much laughter. The Slytherins, using all their wit and cunning, managed to shape a surprisingly artistic and beautiful unicorn standing in the snow.

Colin Creevey took snaps of all the creations, and gave copies to each house to stick up in their common rooms.

Lunch was delicious, but not a big affair, as everybody was too busy getting excited about the Costume Ball, or for the younger kids, the Christmas Dance. After lunch, the students were shooed out of the Great Hall, and some of the prefects began their work decorating and preparing the venue for the Costume Ball, while the other prefects went to the large room set aside for the Christmas Dance to prepare for that, according to their duties.

Hermione, working for the Christmas Dance, helped in organising the placement of all the Muggle food that had been ordered. Packets of chips and other assorted junk food, Muggle sweets and soft drinks were among the many items that were laid on the groaning tables for the first to third year students. Music was put on – Muggle music on a CD player that Dumbledore had enchanted to work without electricity, and big blow-up pictures of scenes from Muggle life had been plastered over the walls. The lighting was rather impressive too, looking surprisingly Muggle.

They finished by four, and the Prefects hurried away to their dorms, to ready themselves for the Costume Ball.

After showering to rid herself of sweat and grime (the Christmas Dance venue had been excessively dusty), Hermione changed into her costume, and twirled in front of a mirror in her dormitory, pleased with her reflection. She had taken Draco's suggestion, and searching through books and plays, found herself most intrigued by the tragic figure of the gypsy 'La Esmeralda', from _Notre-Dame de Paris_ by Victor Hugo, when the gypsy girl first danced in the streets. With Ginny, she had scoured the costume store they had found in Hogsmeade, and had hired a perfect garment that followed the description of the translated book, with a "_golden, unpleated bodice_" and "_billowing, brightly coloured dress_" that left her shoulders bare.

Hermione had realised fairly early on that her complexion was not quite dark enough to pass off as a gypsy, and using a skin darkening spell, turned her skin a darker, golden brown shade, and her hair became black. It was still bushy, but with the darker colour, looked more like flying curls, as opposed to bushy brown hair that normally caught the light in exactly the wrong way to make it appear even fuzzier. She used a couple of cosmetic charms to boldly outline her features, and now admired her costume and appearance in the mirror. She smiled happily to see that she wasn't an elegantly got up princess (ie., a teenage girl in dress robes), was in a _real_ costume, and brightly dressed, which would match the decorations for the hall.

Hermione had been quicker than some of the other girls. Lavender and Parvati kept on squealing about how their hair rollers weren't working properly, and how their cosmetic charms were going haywire. You would think, wouldn't you, that after all the time they spent on their appearance, they would have mastered those techniques by now, wouldn't you? Not so.

Hermione went to find Ginny, to escape the smell of burning hair and overdoses of perfume.

'You look perfect!' Ginny exclaimed upon seeing her friend. 'But you still need the goat!'

Hermione laughed along with Ginny. When she had mentioned to Ginny that the gypsy from _Notre-Dame de Paris_ had had a little white goat, Djali, that had followed La Esmeralda and did little tricks, Ginny had been enchanted, and begged Hermione to find herself a goat and bring it with her to the Costume Ball. Hermione had rather firmly disagreed. Any goat she brought would start eating the decorations, and if bored with that, people's costumes.

Now, Hermione admired Ginny's costume, which she had, after all, helped in. It looked fantastic, and was also rented from the same costume store in Hogsmeade. Ginny's bright, red curls had been braided into two thick red plaits, and she wore a typical pirate's hat with skull-and-crossbones. She wore a dress, with a mass of petticoats and a red and white striped skirt. On her feet were flamboyant, heeled and buckled boots, and a fake cutlass and pistol hung from a large, clunky belt around her waist. Golden earrings decorated her ears, and, as a final touch, Ginny had made Hermione transfigure a glass bottle into a parrot that would sit obediently on her shoulder and squawk the night away. All in all, Ginny looked convincingly outlandish.

'Ahoy! Landlubbers!' Ginny tried to do what she imagined to be a pirate swagger, while the parrot squawking away at the same time and tried to imitate her. Hermione, meanwhile, tried to suppress a laugh.

The two girls went downstairs at the appropriate time, where they met up with the other Gryffindors. Harry was there, with Ron.

'Ginny! You look fantastic,' Harry said, seeing the red-head descending down the stairs. 'Are you a piratess?'

Ginny blushed, all her extravagant "Pirate Queen" confidence disappearing at the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived.

'She's a pirate queen,' Hermione supplied for the speechless Ginny, coming down from behind her. 'Does the word "piratess" even exist?'

The two boys stared at Hermione. 'You look so different,' Ron said, awed.

'You look beautiful,' Harry corrected his friend, also impressed. 'How did you do that to your hair and skin colour?'

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, feeling marginally bolder in her gypsy guise. 'It's a secret.' Inside, her stomach did a couple of flip flops, seeing the admiring looks Ron _and _Harry gave her.

'Shall we go?' Ron asked her. He was dressed as an American cowboy. 

Hermione nodded gladly.

Harry met up with Ravenclaw Lisa Turpin, who was, surprises of surprises, a Princess, and the four went into the Great Hall. It had been transformed amazingly. Hermione knew what was supposed to happen, of course, since she had been contributing to the plans, but seeing it was so much better than the ideas she had in her head of what it would look like after her Prefect discussions.

The long House tables and benches had disappeared, and instead, there were several small wooden tables along the side with fingerfood. Across the top of the hall, brightly coloured streamers were hung in a profusion of colour under the starry sky, and vividly colourful Chinese lanterns bobbed about in the air, providing lights along with flaring torches that had been attached to the walls. The music from the popular wizarding band playing up the front was uplifting, and every so often, a mini firework would be set off, whizzing just above people's heads to explode in a sparkle of light, sprinkling colourful confetti. The atmosphere created was that of a carnival or fair, which Hermione personally felt suited the costume theme well.

Hermione looked at the students in the Hall, to see absolute hordes of Princesses, Fairies and beautiful Enchantresses. She had thought only Gryffindor girls had been afflicted with the Princess-Syndrome, but it seemed the disease was House-wide. You could count the fingers of one hand the number of girls who weren't princesses or fairies aside from herself and Ginny.

One girl, though, did look pretty funny, dressed as a satirical comment of the other costumes, in the guise of one of the ugly step-sisters of Cinderella. She wore a ghastly bright pink dress, with millions of ribbons, frills, ruffles, and petticoats. Around her neck were several fake clunky pieces of jewellery, and her face was outrageously made up with exaggeratedly distorted features, a large beauty spot, and overpowdered face. She wore a wig that was almost fluoro orange in colour, which also held a million ribbons and beads. She looked garishly awful, although Hermione strongly suspected the girl underneath all the makeup, wig, ribbons and petticoats was probably quite normal looking, if not pretty.

Other girls shied away from her, obviously intimidated by the almost frighteningly extreme costume. 

The boys had more variety, although Hermione felt very strongly that dressing as a member of your favourite Quidditch team did not classify as a costume. She had dissuaded Ron from the notion herself. The Weasley twins made a fantastic appearance as Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, but Hermione had say that the most dramatic male costume had to go to the boy dressed as the Phantom from _Phantom of the Opera_. His hair was pure white and had been slicked back tightly – which was obviously enhanced in some way since there was nobody in the school who had white hair. Hermione would have remembered it if there were. He wore the trademark mask of the Phantom, and a big black cape swirled about him menacingly.

Some of the couples that came dressed together in a theme of sorts. One couple came from Ancient Rome – the boy wore a white bedsheet as a toga, while another couple looked very convincing as a couple from the Middle Ages. Cameron Eddy and Frances Bennings had come together (the Prefects had teased them a great deal when they had found out), and were dressed as a couple from a Jane Austen novel.

'Dancing's starting,' Ron noted to Hermione a few minutes after the Ball had started. The band had begun playing faster, louder numbers, and the Hogwarts students cheered as they began dancing to the music. It was lots of fun, even though Ron wasn't the best dancer there ever was, and kept tripping over Hermione's feet with flaming red ears. Hermione danced with others too – Dean, Seamus, Fred and George, and of course, Harry, and she found the Costume Ball to be a complete success.

After two hours, Hermione excused herself to go and keep watch on the Christmas Dance with Neville. Neville had come to the Ball with Susan Bones (one of the numerous fairies), and was dressed as a Navy Captain from the nineteenth century.

'Nice costume, Hermione,' Neville said, grinning.

'Thanks,' Hermione said, smiling. 'Yours isn't bad either,' she remarked.

Neville didn't even blush once or stutter, and Hermione marvelled at the change that had come over Neville since summer. Occasionally, he reverted to his clumsy forgetful mode, but that was become rarer and rarer, surfacing mostly in Potions, even though Snape never threatened him any more. He was quietly confident in their Prefect meetings, and Hermione had noticed him talking to Susan several times, and had a feeling _something _was going on there.

Their time at the Christmas Dance was pleasant, spent with four other prefects from other years. It was also amusing, watching the younger kids energetically bouncing around the entire time, dancing and eating, with the Muggle kids singing along with the songs while the wizarding-born students tried to emulate their dancing style and learn the words. Hermione, watching the younger kids, felt re-energised, and when her hour was up, returned back to the Costume Ball with lightened spirits.

After stopping at the bathroom on the way back, she stood at the side of the Hall searching for Ron or Harry. As she surveyed the Hall, she noticed yet again in the throng of colourful students, the disproportionate number of Princesses. It really annoyed her no end.

'Absolutely disgusting,' Hermione muttered, shaking her head to herself.

'What is?' a voice asked at her side. Hermione glanced over, to see the Phantom she had noticed earlier. His voice sounded familiar, and she struggled to place it, but she couldn't see enough of his face to find out. His eyes were a startlingly pale but bright blue.

'The fact that every single girl out there has decided to be a "little Princess",' Hermione said the phrase in a cloyingly sweet voice. 'Haven't they realised that it's a _Costume_ Ball? Not a wear your ordinary dress-robes get up?'

The Phantom laughed. 'It seems you're one of the few who did,' he observed dryly. He turned to her speculatively. 'Now, would you like to dance?'

Hermione hesitated, thinking she _should _find Ron, but shrugged. She still had plenty of time to dance with Ron when she found him. In the meantime, she'd dance with this intriguingly costumed person. For some reason, she found him fascinating.

'Who are you?' Hermione asked after a few minutes of dancing. She almost had to shout for the live band was very loud, their music resonating in the Great Hall, and amplified with a simple charm.

'You don't know?' he asked, surprised, yet not surprised. His voice sounded very close to an all too recognisable smirk at that moment, and Hermione gasped.

'Malfoy?'

'Yours truly,' Draco said, grinning at her from under the mask.

'But your eyes!' Hermione said, peering at them closely. 'Where did you find an eye-colour changing charm? I spent ages looking for one to darken my eyes but failed in the end.'

'I chanced upon it,' Draco said. 'It wasn't exactly difficult.'

'Your look is very impressive,' Hermione said earnestly.

'Thank you,' Draco mock-bowed. 'You don't look half bad either,' he said. Hermione blinked. A _compliment_? 'I like your costume. Did you use _my _idea?'

Hermione nodded, smiling wryly. 'The character's from _Notre-Dame de Paris_, by Victor Hugo, a French Muggle author,' Hermione explained. 'La Esmeralda, a gypsy dancer. She was hated by the fourteenth-century Parisians, because she was a gypsy. The gypsies who were a reviled group back then.'

They continued dancing in silence in their small corner of the Hall after Hermione's explanation. Searching for something to say in the slight awkwardness that had followed, Hermione glanced over to the drinks table, and chuckled.

'Look,' she nodded her head.

Draco turned, and she caught a glimpse of a smile under the mask. 'Spiked drinks?'

'It seems so.'

Several of the students near the drinks table had suddenly begun dancing in a rather inappropriately provocative manner after sipping their drinks, one the boys even beginning to remove articles of clothing. Professor Snape, who had been standing at the side, noticed rather quickly though, and after giving the students some antidotes, turned around to find the culprits.

He frowned, searching for a particular mischief-making pair, but Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee were at the other end of the hall, dancing innocuously with their dates Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell, although Hermione could swear she saw identical evil grins crack onto the twins' faces the moment Snape shifted his suspicious stare from them.

The fuss over, Draco looked pensively at Hermione, before speaking.

'I finished reading the book you gave me,' he said, glancing at her.

Hermione looked at him, surprised, wishing he didn't wear that mask, or mess around with his eyes, so that she could see his expression. 'That quickly?'

He shrugged nonchalantly. 'I spent the day in the library. I did need to look up a few things sometimes, like you predicted.'

'What did you think?' Hermione asked him tensely.

He opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment, Harry found her.

'Hermione! There you are. Ron's been searching all over for you,' Harry said, taking hold of her arm. He glanced over at Draco, and frowned, obviously not recognising him, then turned back to Hermione. 'How was the kiddies' Dance?' he asked, grinning.

Hermione trailed after Harry helplessly, her eyes following Draco who watched her go back to meet Ron, desperate to hear what Draco had to say about _To Kill a Mockingbird_, a tale of prejudice. She found Ron, who looked overjoyed at the sight of her, quickly enough and continued dancing. She sighed, pushing such serious thoughts of Draco and the book and issues of blood, and forced herself to continue having light-hearted fun and not worry and fret.

At eleven o'clock, the Ball ended, and everyone left the Costume Ball, not terribly reluctant. The party was to be continued in all the House Common Rooms of course, although they would be exclusively House oriented, which made those couples who weren't from the same House more averse to leave the Costume Ball.

However, by quarter past eleven, the Great Hall was cleared of everybody, except for the twenty-four Prefects, left to clean up the mess as quickly as possible so they could get back to the House parties.

Hermione, using her wand, was removing streamers from the ceiling, when Draco came up to her. His hair was still pure white, and his eyes that brightly pale icy blue, but he had removed his mask. He still looked a little freaky though – almost albino-like, considering his naturally pale complexion.

'Need help?' he offered.

Hermione turned and smiled at him. 'That'd be nice.'

They worked for a couple minutes, charming the streamers off the ceiling, when Hermione spoke. 'What did you think of _To Kill a Mockingbird_?' she asked him, voice as casual as she could make it.

'It's a very good book,' he said, also neutrally. He said nothing else, until Hermione turned to him. 'I know why you gave me that book,' he said, cutting the crap efficiently.

Hermione flushed, but nodded. 'And?'

He sighed. 'It's made me think a bit about things,' he said finally.

That was it, but it was enough to make Hermione smile happily. It was all she could do from breaking out into a triumphant _yes!_ at the fact that she was accomplishing what was seemingly impossible, by starting changing Draco Malfoy's view of what was really a form of racism about blood purity.

They finished the clean up job within half an hour, and the prefects all headed back to their appropriate Common Rooms, with reminders to meet at the Christmas Dance venue at three o'clock the next day, to be followed by celebrations at the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione walked for a while with Draco as they took a common route. When the time came for them to part ways, for Hermione to go to the Gryffindor Common Room, and him to go to the Slytherin dungeons, they stopped, and looked at each other.

'You're wearing my necklace,' he commented, observing the silvery chain.

Hermione nodded, feeling oddly shy. 'I really like it,' she said, fingering the chain as he mentioned it.

They were silent for a while, before he spoke up. 'Thank you, for the Christmas gift, Hermione,' he said softly, before turning away to find his way to the Slytherin common room.

Hermione returned to her Common Room, a smile hovering about her face.

'Back finally!' Ron said, jumping up to meet her as he saw her enter. He grinned at her, albeit nervously.

'How's the party going?' Hermione asked, but she could see it looked fine. Everyone had changed into normal clothes, and loud music was blaring from a wizarding radio.

'It's great,' Ron said, enthusiastically. Hermione headed towards the stairs to take off her costume, but he stopped her, emboldened perhaps by the atmosphere of the room, or the slight alcoholic content of the butterbeers he had drunken that night. 'Er, Hermione, I was wondering if,' he stumbled, 'i-if you'd like to go to the Three Broomsticks on New Year's Eve together, like as, you know, a c-couple?'

On New Year's Eve there was a party at the Three Broomsticks, and many of the older Hogwarts students were planning to go. Dumbledore had indulgently given his permission to those students who were in fifth year and above although several of the teachers would be there too to keep an eye on them. It was the place to be on the 31st of December. There would be no drinking, of course, since none of them were over eighteen and would be in the presence of teachers, but nonetheless, it would still be fun. 

Hermione looked at the red-faced, embarrassed, and apprehensive Ron, and nodded. 'That'd be nice,' she said.

He smiled then, and let her go. 'Be back soon,' he called after her.

'I will!' Hermione shouted back jubilantly, as she hurried to her dorm to change. As she changed, though, she found herself deliriously happy, but strangely over Draco's acceptance of the ideas in _To Kill A Mockingbird_, as opposed to Ron admitting to liking her, and wanting to be her boyfriend.

Author's note: And so the fun and fluff starts to die out a bit as we draw nearer to the climax of fifth year. For those who are really pedantic about sources etc., the quotes from _Notre-Dame of Paris_ by Victor Hugo are taken from the Penguin Classics edition of 1978 translated from French by John Sturrock.

Thank you for the lovely reviews!!!! I'm becoming a review-addict, and it's probably very unhealthy, but too bad. :)

Lady Prongs – I wasn't originally going to have Fred & George do something at the Ball, but it would be very in character for them. So, as you read, they did spike the punch. Ron can be annoying, but he'll mature a bit, so you'll get used to him. Don't get too worried about his part in this plot. 

Cinnamon – I know! I'm not too keen on fics where the leading couple, especially an unlikely pair like Draco and Hermione, fall head over heels suddenly, and then decide to completely crawl over each other non-stop. Have you read _Their Room _(see my favourites)? That's a fic that explores a growing relationship more naturally, if anything can be natural in the fanfic world.

xygrlnxtdoor – thanks!

Nikki - Hermione gets it. She just doesn't like it. And here's more.


	10. A Lost Photo

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. It's all JKR's.

Chapter 10 – A Lost Photo

The sun had long since melted the snow that had covered the grounds of Hogwarts castle and the weather was warming up nicely. The fifth year students began feeling the excessive pressures of the oncoming O.W.L.s examinations, that were to be held in only a month.

'I'll never learn this,' Ron said, moaning as he studied _1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi_. They were expected to memorise a great deal of that book, for both Potions and Herbology, a fact that had most students crying out in dismay. He flipped the pages of the book, tried to continue reading, but failing that, took to doodling on a scrap of parchment, drawing designs of a Quidditch field and little strategic moves for players over it.

Hermione, looking over at him, frowned. 'You'll never learn it if you don't read it,' she said firmly. She and Ron had been going out ever since the Costume Ball, starting first with the New Year's Eve party, when Ron had kissed her briefly: her first kiss ever. Their relationship was fairly steady thus far, they almost never argued, and it was all very placid. There was nothing really exciting about it – it was almost like their old friendship except that they kissed occasionally, and Ron would give her funny looks, but, as Hermione hastily told herself, she was very happy with it all. It just didn't feel terribly romantic …

Ron scowled moodily at the offending textbook.

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration work. 'We really should go to the field now,' he said, glancing at his watch. They had a practice scheduled for seven o'clock that evening.

'Honestly, don't you think studying's more important?' Hermione threw up her hands in disgust. 'You only take the O.W.L.s once in your lifetime. There are many, many Quidditch games!'

'Hermione, this game's against Slytherin,' Harry said, green eyes serious as he explained to her. 'We have to beat them. We're on fairly equal points, and this is our final game. It's a case of who wins this game wins the Quidditch cup, so we really have to win.'

'And you wouldn't want Gryffindor to lose the House cup would you?' Ron asked, grinning.

Hermione sighed. 'No,' she admitted, 'but …'

Harry and Ron though had already stood up, and had stuffed their books away hurriedly. 'See you later!' they called back as they left the Common Room quickly, faces lit with eagerness. It wasn't long before Fred and George, and Angelina, Alicia and Katie put down their study for the N.E.W.T.s and leave the Common Room after them.

Now that her two friends were gone, Hermione decided to go to the library to study, and as she had half expected, she saw Draco sitting there, poring over his books.

'How's it going?' she asked him, as she sat down next to him.

He looked up. 'It's fine,' he said, a faint smile on his face. 'Where's Weasley?'

Hermione made a face. 'Quidditch.'

When people had found out that she and Ron were going out, there had been a variety of reactions. Harry had, of course, been very happy for them and supportive, as was Ginny, who had been delighted with the news. Lavender and Parvati had squealed a great deal, and Dean, Seamus and Neville had looked pretty pleased about the whole business.

Hermione had expected Draco to start teasing her and Ron the moment he found out, but to her surprise, when he had seen her and Ron together at the New Year's Eve party, he had said nothing, although his face momentarily became shadowed. He never really talked about it to Hermione, and Hermione got the distinct impression that he disapproved of the relationship, but there was no antagonism involved. He stopped baiting Ron so much.

Draco grimaced. 'They're practising too damn much.'

'Not like you haven't,' Hermione pointed out. Draco did look rather tired and tense lately – more so than Ron and Harry. He was a prefect with those associated duties, and studied a lot harder than those two, on top of being Slytherin Quidditch captain.

'We'll thrash you,' Draco said, arrogantly confident.

Hermione shook her head. 'We'll win.'

'We'll see,' Draco merely said, a smile playing on his lips. 'Are you going to cheer for me when I chase after the Snitch?'

'I'll try and cheer for both you and Harry,' Hermione said firmly.

'You can't do that!' Draco said, aghast at the idea.

'You're both my friends,' Hermione said reasonably. 'Why can't I?' 

Draco shook his head, muttering to himself as he continued with his work while Hermione chuckled. Before long, though, he tilted back in his chair. 'Want to help me with this?' he waved a piece of Arithmancy work in front of her, and laughing, Hermione agreed.

Hermione liked studying with Draco. He was intelligent, and she could actually ask him for assistance at times, as opposed to being Miss-Quick-and-Easy-Answers for all the others. Draco's worst subject was Transfiguration, which incidentally was Hermione's best. Ancient Runes though, was very easy for Draco, while Hermione found it one of her more difficult subjects. In the other subjects, one was slightly better, or worse than the other. Draco had the edge on her in Care of Magical Creatures, but Hermione was just a bit better at Charms. He was better at Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Hermione got better marks in Potions even though he was Snape's favourite pupil. Their ability at History of Magic and Herbology was roughly the same, and Astronomy, always the easy subject, was always passed with flying colours by the two of them. Their most competitive subject though, was Arithmancy.

Their results in this most difficult of elective subjects was varied – Hermione might do better in one test, Draco in another assignment. Hermione understood one concept more easily, Draco the other. It was stimulating, and rather fun and exciting in a way, and Professor Vector was certainly very pleased. Healthy competition made their marks soar.

'I'm glad you two are finally in the same class,' she said, pleased, after handing back an assignment in which they had both managed to score the exact same mark of 110%.

Hermione and Draco gave each other small smiles. They too, were glad.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Arithmancy class was taking bets as to which of the two would come top in the exams for that subject. It was roughly half and half.

The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin arrived soon enough, though, with the day eagerly anticipated by many of the students at the school. It was the last match of the Quidditch season, and _the_ match of the year. It was between two intensely rival Houses, and sparks flew between the two captains, who were, after all, both in the same year and were worst enemies.

'Harry's going to catch the snitch,' Neville said confidently to his girlfriend, Susan Bones from where they sat in the stands watching the empty pitch eagerly.

Susan nodded. 'I think so too, but will they win? Draco Malfoy's put together such a strong side.'

That was quite true. Draco had chosen his players with great care, and although they may have had slightly less experience than the Gryffindor side, they were equally skilled and talented. Although Hermione would never say this to Ron, the Slytherin keeper was just slightly better – he was a seventh year who had played as a reserve in all his years, while Ron was positively green. Fred and George functioned very closely, as did the three Gryffindor chasers, so maybe their years of playing together would carry them off, because sometimes they would fly as if of one mind.

Ginny was sitting down at the sides as a Reserve chaser with the other Reserves, so Hermione sat with Dean and Seamus in the stands as they watched the players. Lee Jordan, commentating his last ever game of Quidditch at Hogwarts, was going at it full blown.

'And here are the Gryffindors! Weasley, Weasley, Weasley,' this caused a slight laugh from the crowd, 'Bell, Spinnet, Johnson, _and_ Potter!' Lee Jordan shouted into the crowd.

The cheers were amazing, as were the boos.

'And the Slytherin team! The captain's put together a virtually new team! Rawlings, Ingrid, Edwards, Pleyel, Zabini, Kamno, _and _Malfoy!' If Lee had shouted Draco's name with less enthusiasm than Harry's it didn't show in the crowd. There were once again tremendous cheers, and tremendous boos. Typical. Hermione could see, on the other side of the field, Pansy Parkinson screaming loudly like an air-headed idiot as Draco flew onto the field, and shook her head. She would _never_ lower herself to such a level.

The game began, and the fast Quidditch players zoomed about the field. Hermione's eyes were drawn to the two Seekers, who were both hovering across the field, searching for that bit of gold. They were quite close to her stand, and for a moment, Hermione could see both Harry and Draco glance over to her at the same time. Harry smiled briefly, while Draco winked, smirking.

'The score's ten-ten! Looks like the Slytherin team's been doing some work!' Lee shouted, as Kamno scored. Hermione could see Ron curse blackly, as Kamno punched his arm into the air. She could see the chaser look over to his captain, and smiled to see Draco give him the thumbs up. She had never seen Draco so encouraging before to others.

The game was very close, and the cleanest Hermione had ever seen in a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game. After about three hours, though, the score was on 290-280, Gryffindor leading, just. There was still no sign of that elusive snitch.

The game continued, and Hermione yawned, not even bothering to hide her boredom as she had at first. Not being the Quidditch fan she was, she had begun to find it boring after the first half hour. Three hours?

'And Johnson passes the Quaffle to Bell, who passed it to Spinnet. And it's back to Johnson and noooo!' Lee moaned into the megaphone. 'She's been hit, by Edwards!' He started swearing, and Professor McGonagall tried to tell him to stop it, but she too was upset. It was a fair hit as well, which meant there was nothing to be done about it – Edwards had been lucky, and Angelina not so lucky. Her arm hung at an awkward angle, and she bit her lip in pain.

There was a collective groan from the Gryffindor supporters, and a furious Fred thwacked the bludger back at Edwards, who just managed to avoid it as the game paused momentarily to investigate the situation.

'No,' Seamus moaned. 'Why did that stupid bludger have to hit Angelina?'

'This is so not good,' Dean agreed, voice muffled, face gloomily held by his hands.

'Well, the Gryffindor team ain't givin' up, and here they come again. Reserve's playing, hey, it's Ginny Weasley!' Lee said, cheering the plucky little Gryffindor. 'That makes it four Weasleys on the team! Weasley's good, but, it'll be difficult for the Chasers flying together now since they probably haven't been practising as much as a unit. But here they go – Zabini's got the quaffle, it's gone to Pleyel, Kamno, but the bludger! Hit expertly by Weasley, Kamno dropped the Quaffle, and it's over to Weasley…'

Hermione cheered her friend's appearance on the Quidditch pitch. Ginny flew well, but it became clearly apparent that Lee's worries about the lack of unity in the three Chasers were well-founded. Ginny was very good in her own right, but she hadn't worked much with Alicia, Katie or Angelina, but with the other two reserve Chasers. As such, they weren't thinking together, this let the Slytherin score to rise above their own, until the score was a dismal 320-380. Ginny did manage to score once though, which delighted the Gryffindors. That boded well for next year's team.

'Pleyel's got the Quaffle and in it goes,' Lee shouted, voice flat with displeasure. There were more groans from the Gryffindors, and Hermione could see Ron scowling. This was his worst game by far, the other matches had gone off brilliantly for him. '390-320, Slytherins.'

'If Harry scored now, we'd still win,' Seamus muttered hopefully to Hermione and Dean. Hermione nodded, and crossed her fingers, but glanced up at Draco. Draco had heard Lee's announcement, but his face was so focused, it was like he hadn't even noticed it. Hermione watched him and Harry fascinated. Neither of them became distracted ever, but concentrated on searching, even though they had already been doing it for hours.

Suddenly, Draco dove into action, as he had a couple of times already.

'Watch at Malfoy go! Is it the Snitch he's seen?' Lee yelled. The crowd silenced, a great hush coming across, watching with keen eyes as one.

Hermione watched, scarcely able to breathe, as Draco flew as fast as he could, following a tiny glint of gold that was barely visible to the spectators. She never realised that Draco could fly that fast. But Harry had seen Draco and straight away, dove after him. He was only behind by a few feet, and Hermione could see that little distance separating the two seekers reduce, and reduce. Hermione gripped her seat tightly as Harry closed that distance, bit by bit … and at the last moment, he snatched the snitch just before Draco could reach it.

'Gryffindor wins!' Lee hollered. '400-390!'

The cheering from the Gryffindors were louder than anyone could have imagined. They had won the cup, for the second time! Fred, George, Ginny, Alicia and Katie landed quickly, and gave each other a massive embrace, with Angelina running to join them, being careful of her arm. This was Fred, George, Angelina, Alicia and Katie's last ever Quidditch game at Hogwarts, and they had won it!

'We won!' Alicia and Angelina screamed into the crowd exuberantly, while Katie wiped a tear from her face, emotions overcoming her, one arm around Ginny, who glowed happily at the sight of the Quidditch cup. Ron, Harry, Fred and George slapped each other's backs, and raised their arms to the crowd, Harry's hand still holding the snitch. It was a happy moment for Gryffindor house.

It was less happy for the Slytherins. Their house had been _so_ close, and they hadn't won for many years. They had been winning, until the Snitch was taken by Harry just from Draco's grasp. And Draco had found it too!

Hermione watched as Draco glided down on his broom. He clapped his teammates on their backs, a firm smile on his face that never wavered, as he spoke to them. Hermione could not hear what they were saying, but she could tell he was trying to be encouraging. Whatever he was saying worked, because the downcast faces of his team brightened just a bit at his words. They went off to change, but Draco remained on the edge of the pitch, watching the Gryffindor celebrations. The heartening smile on his face faded swiftly, and he watched Harry and Ron sounded by a throng of celebrating Gryffindors bitterly.

Hermione was drawn into a hug and a kiss from both Ron and Harry. 'You were brilliant, both of you,' Hermione insisted, watching Harry and Ron's beaming faces.

'We were, weren't we,' Ron said off-handedly, making the Gryffindors howl with laughter.

Hermione, glancing to the side, could see Malfoy's tightly drawn face, staring at them. Harry saw turn aside, and followed the direction of her gaze to see Malfoy.

'It was close,' Harry said softly to Hermione, so that only she could hear. She nodded. 'If it weren't for this,' he gestured at his Firebolt, 'I wouldn't have won.'

'I'm going to talk to him,' Hermione said shortly. Harry gave her a questioning look, but Hermione shrugged, not feeling up to explaining her odd little friendship with Draco, and left the still congratulatory Gryffindor crowd to follow Draco. He had begun heading towards the change rooms.

'Draco!' Hermione called. There was no one else nearby to hear them.

He turned, and a sneer automatically drew itself onto his pale features. 'Come to laugh, Granger?'

Hermione's heart dropped momentarily at his coldness, but raised her head determinedly. 'You know me better than that,' Hermione chided, hoping it was just a reaction against losing, and not a sign that he was reverting to his former self.

Her hopes were right. Draco sighed, and turned wistful grey eyes on her. 'Sorry. I'm just a bit disappointed.'

'That's completely natural,' Hermione said firmly. 'And I came to _congratulate _you and your team. I guess I'm the Gryffindor rep for this, since the others are still floating in the clouds. Your team's really improved, and I can't believe you Slytherins are playing cleanly!' She said this enthusiastically.

A faint smile appeared on his face. 'They weren't too bad, were they,' he agreed, a little proudly.

'No, they weren't,' Hermione said comfortingly. She hesitated. 'You were pretty good yourself.'

He sighed again. 'Not good enough,' he said. His eyes drifted over to Hagrid's hut, and Hermione knew, if Pegasus were still there, he would want to take a ride to escape from the reality of the situation. But Pegasus was gone, delivered back into the wild once the snow had melted, and instead, he would have to go back to the cold, dank Slytherin dungeons. Hermione bit her lip.

'Are you going to do some study now?' she asked him.

He nodded. 'I slacked off a bit the last few nights, with last minute Quidditch training, so I need to catch up on a bit of study,' he admitted. He looked at his watch. 'Maybe after dinner,' he smiled wryly.

Hermione nodded, and set off back to the school while Draco went off to change. Dinner was a bit of a rowdy affair at the Gryffindor table, and ensued in a bit of a food fight. At the other tables, people were busy collecting money from winnings, or losing money from failed bets.

After dinner, Hermione slipped into the Gryffindor tower to collect her books, and then went to leave. Harry saw her before she went.

'Where are you going?' he asked her, green eyes bright.

Hermione sighed. 'I need to study. There's no way I can study in here,' she said truthfully.

'But the party's starting any moment,' Harry said, one hand on her arm pulling her back inside.

'That's precisely why I have to go to the library,' she said patiently. 'How could I study if you people were busy cavorting around?'

Harry shook his head disapprovingly. 'Ron won't be happy,' he warned. Ron wasn't back yet from dinner.

'He'll live,' Hermione said shortly. 'And I'll be back before the end of the party,' she added knowingly. These celebrations rarely finished before one o'clock, and, Hermione believed, very detrimental to the academic results of those who remained until the end.

Harry hesitated, before letting her go. 'How did Malfoy take it?' he asked her, voice low.

'Better than I thought he would,' Hermione told him.

'You're friends with him, aren't you,' Harry half-accused quietly.

Hermione shrugged. She hadn't exactly made a secret of it after all. She just hadn't told the whole world about it. 'He's not that bad, Harry,' she told him. 'He's changed, I think,' she added.

Harry observed the small smile on his friend's face as she spoke, and stared at her. 'I find that hard to believe,' he said finally. 'You know what his father is,' he added.

'He's not very fond of his father,' Hermione said dryly. 'Not any more, anyway.' She smiled. 'You're taking this a lot better than I would have thought you would.'

'Ron would blow his top if he realised you and Malfoy were on speaking terms,' Harry said wryly. 'I just happen to trust your judgement, to some extent.' 

She reached a hand over to touch his arm. 'You worry too much about me,' she said, smiling, before turning to go to the library.

'Watch out, Hermione,' Harry warned.

'Don't worry!' Hermione said, laughing as she left. Harry could be such a dear!

She arrived at the library shortly, and pulled out her books. Draco wasn't there yet, and she began working on her Ancient Runes translation. Hermione sort of liked the subject, but she didn't have the same ease and facility with languages as Draco had. She could still recall the day when she had realised Draco's precocious talent at languages.

'Look at that,' Hermione remarked, pointing at a little motif in Latin scrawled at the bottom of a random library book.

'_Faithful was Rovus_,' Draco said chuckling as he translated it. 'I gather somebody liked their pet dog.'

'You understand Latin?' Hermione asked, surprised.

'I can read and speak fluent Latin,' Draco said indifferently. 'Father insisted I learn it, and it is useful with some of the incantations,' he added thoughtfully. 'Although there isn't really anybody to converse with in Latin.'

'Can you speak anything else?' Hermione asked, interested.

'French, Italian, a bit of German, even less Spanish, and fluent Russian and Chinese,' he rattled off the list to Hermione's wide eyes.

'Russian?' Hermione asked, incredulously. 'Chinese?'

'I like Chinese food,' Draco said defensively.

'And so you learnt the language?'

'It didn't take long. I have picked up a few Greek curses though,' Draco grinned as he shrugged off her admiration. He did have a natural aptitude for languages though, which annoyed Hermione no end in Ancient Runes.

At that moment, the object of her thoughts arrived at that moment, plonking his books unceremoniously on the table. He had showered, and his white blond hair half clung to his head.

'Hi,' he greeted. He looked more cheerful, seeing her. 'Why are you here?'

'I'm studying,' Hermione pointed out.

'Isn't there a celebration party going on in Gryffindor tower?' Draco enquired as he pulled out parchment and quill.

'Yes, but I need to study,' Hermione said reasonably. She also wanted to keep Draco company. Harry and Ron would be surrounded by milling celebrators, but Draco, she knew, would pretty much be alone.

'Weasley won't be happy,' Draco said perceptively, saying exactly the same as what Harry had said.

'I'm going out with him to Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon,' she said. 'He'll be fine.' 

'Suit yourself,' Draco said, and sat down.

'Now would you mind helping me with this?' Hermione suggested, shoving the translation in front of him.

'That was easy,' he said, grinning.

'No, it isn't,' Hermione retorted tartly. 'Stop gloating and help me.'

He complied, explaining the translation until she understood, and then Hermione helped him with a bit of Transfiguration, before they both worked for a while on Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Then, Hermione returned to her revision notes for Ancient Runes.

Draco had gone to research something on History of Magic when she became stuck on something. _Bother_, she thought, wanting to ask him. She glanced about, head bobbing back and forth as she searched for him, but with him nowhere in sight to help her, she pulled his bag over to find his Ancient Runes workbook, given no other alternative. As she pulled it out, something fluttered out of his bag, and she picked it up almost subconsciously, to put it back into the bag, when she looked down absently and gasped.

It was the photograph of her, the edges ripped, looking like it had been torn from a larger photo. Memories flooded back, and she remembered the night her home had been intruded and sacked in an effort to find something. She remembered putting a spell on the torn pieces of photograph and shards of glass from the frame, and that they had fitted together, leaving behind a hole where she had been.

And now Draco had it …

She stared at the photograph in front of her. That meant he must have been among those who broke in, who Ron had suspected were Death-eaters, and her heart whispered fearfully. Draco was a Death-eater? She swallowed. Had his friendship with her been a farce? Everything he had said false?

Harry's warning returned to her ears, and suddenly she couldn't take it. It _had_ been false. It was all a trap. Hermione closed her eyes, and shuffled her things back into her bag quickly, dropping the photograph into her pocket. It was already half past ten, and she left the library quickly before Draco returned.

Her night was sleepless – not just because of the noisy raucous party downstairs, but because of her thoughts regarding a certain pale boy. Her theories whirled, her confusions swirled, but when she awoke the next morning, she had reached a simple conclusion. Draco Malfoy was his father's son.

She didn't find rest until five o'clock in the morning, and woke on Sunday very late for, Hermione. It was already past eleven when her eyes opened, and she changed sluggishly. Going to the common room, she saw Ron.

'Hermione, are you alright?' Ron frowned, seeing the dark circles under her eyes.

'A bit tired from studying,' Hermione excused herself. It was true, she told herself. She was tired from all her study.

'I'll say,' Ron agreed. 'Do you want to go now to Hogsmeade?'

Hermione nodded. 'That'd be lovely.'

They left Hogwarts together, and arrived at Hogsmeade fairly quickly. The lunch they had was quiet, with Hermione say little.

'You're awfully quiet, Hermione,' Ron noted after they had both eaten, and sat in silence.

Hermione shrugged, and looked back down at her close to empty plate. Crumbs were interesting, she decided. Counting them took her mind off more unpleasant matters that made her stomach sink in disgusted dismay.

'Look, I understand,' Ron said awkwardly.

Hermione looked up. 'Understand what?' she asked, puzzled.

'It's not working, is it,' he said, twisting a piece of bread in his fingers.

Hermione said nothing, a slightly perplexed frown on her face.

'I mean, I always thought I was in love with you. Not always, but I used to think about our arguments, and what you could call my jealousy of everything to do with you, and I thought about it lately, and then I decided that I was madly in love with you. But, I guess I analysed it all wrong,' Ron said, looking nervously at her. 'I think it all comes from a bit of protectiveness … like you're my sister or something, I dunno. Sort of like Ginny.'

Hermione nodded solemnly, an inappropriate smile creeping out that she fought to hide when she remembered Ron's protectiveness of Ginny. When Ron had found out that Ginny was going to the Costume Ball with Colin Creevey, he had taken poor Colin aside and interrogated him for a full half an hour, complete with threats on how he would disembowel the small, mild boy if he so much as laid a finger on Ginny. It had sort of been the same last year, with Viktor Krum.

'I do love you, but I don't think in that sort of way,' Ron said finally.

Hermione nodded.

'Dammit, say something!' Ron said, frustrated.

Hermione gave him a small smile. 'I-I, I agree with what you say,' Hermione said. Her relationship with Ron hadn't been what had been giving her trouble. She knew there hadn't been much to their "romantic" relationship, but she hadn't worried about it. Inside, she felt Ron was being very sweet and thoughtful, to fuss so about her, but she had to agree with what he said. 'It's kind of true. I've never had a brother, but you seem to fill that role fine for me,' she added, grinning.

Ron broke into a relieved grin too. 'So are we still friends?'

Hermione pretended to frown. 'We've been friends for almost five bloody years! Just because we decided to try something else for a few months doesn't mean we can't be friends again,' she scolded.

'Friends, then,' Ron agreed.

Hermione nodded. 'I love you too, Ron, in a brotherly sort of way,' she added, reaching across the table to give him a hug.

'Great, now I have two sisters to pester me,' Ron grumbled, a smile in his voice.

'You've had two sisters to pester you since you met me,' Hermione reminded.

Ron made a wry face, but Hermione felt her heart lifting. Everything was back to normal with Ron.

The two of them paid for their lunch, and stood to leave. Hermione couldn't help but notice that a figure in a dark cloak sat up as they did so, and felt a chill creep down her spine. She couldn't see the person's face under the hood of his cloak, but she could feel him watching her.

They walked about the stores, Hermione doing her best to ignore the nervous sensation she had of being watched, and mindlessly chatted about not much with Ron, when Hermione glanced at her watch. 'We should get back,' she said. 'I need to work.'

'If you want,' Ron said amiably. He was far more relaxed than he had ever been with her, and Hermione found herself enjoying his company more than before.

They left the small village, and began walking back towards Hogwarts. As they walked, Hermione imagined that she could hear the sound of footsteps trailing them, and she shivered. But what if the footsteps were real? 

'Ron,' she whispered.

'What is it?' Ron's voice sounded harshly loud to her fearful self.

'There's somebody following us,' Hermione said, voice shaking.

'Nonsense,' Ron said curtly.

'It's true,' Hermione insisted.

Ron gave her a dubious look, but he stopped, and listened. There was the distinct sound of somebody stopping behind them that both Hermione and Ron heard, and Ron's face turned white. 'Let's go,' he muttered.

They quickened their pace, and heard those footsteps move faster, and faster behind them. They grew louder in volume.

'Run!' Ron shouted, giving up all pretence of ignorance. Hermione thought that was a very good idea, and broke into a run. The two sped along as they had never done before when they both froze.

'Oh, no you don't!' a cold, amusedly cruel voice said, and Hermione felt the force of a curse hit her back as she collapsed forwards into the ground, the world blackening about her.

Author's Note: Another chapter done, and probably another six or seven to go (I think). I'm sorry if you find this chapter boring, because I certainly did. I'm not very good at writing about Quidditch. I'm not even sure I got the scoring thing right, so if it's wrong, tell me and I'll fix it. But thanks for the reviews!

Cinnamon - _Emma _is JKR's fav book, and since JKR has said Hermione's most like her, I thought it'd be appropriate. Personally, I prefer _Pride and Prejudice_. _Les Misérables_ is fantastic. I loved the musical, and so I read the book, which is so long! In French? Wow, talented! 

Lady Prongs - Yeah, _To Kill a Mockingbird _is wonderful. It's probably one of my favourite books, maybe after the _Lord of the Rings_. You won't get Draco's reaction for a while, but you will get it. 

Morgan - thanks!


	11. Inside and Outside

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: All this stuff basically belongs to JKR and not me. I'm not trying to claim this as mine either. I claim it as her's.

Chapter 11 – Inside and Outside

The overwhelming blackness that had put Hermione's mind into a deep slumber receded slowly, and although her eyes were firmly sealed shut, she became aware that she was not dead as she had initially thought, and was in fact, conscious. Slowly, one by one, she regained her senses, and could feel herself lying with her back on what felt like cold stone. Her icy fingers twitched just a little, and she could feel gritty and slimy grime, which made her wince in discomfit. Her stiff position made her ache uncomfortably, and she carefully arched her back just a little, trying not to move too much, for her body was still unwilling to shift itself after what felt like hours of prone stillness.

Sounds crept back into her mind, and listening, she could hear the sounds of dripping water, the soft noise emphasised by the echoey stone. There were also the sounds of small creatures scampering that made Hermione recoil. But most importantly, was the sound of another person breathing, which made Hermione attempt to force her eyes open. The process of opening her eyes was difficult, but in the end, she managed, and blinking a few times to ease the blurry vision (she couldn't even rub her eyes because of the dirt on her hands), she sat up slowly, and looked around.

She clearly in a dungeon.

The room was not big, in fact, tiny would be the kindest description possible, with no windows in the oppressive stone walls. A slight ray of a strangely bluish light filtered in through the window of the heavy, wooden door, which was barred with rusty iron, and the light reflected off a small puddle of water into which more water dripped from the sealing. It felt damp, and cold, and uncomfortable.

'Ron!' Hermione could see her friend, also lying on the floor near her, with a terrible cut on his forehead that had clotted, but looked rather frightening all the same. She and reaching out, weakly at first, shook him, before he too opened his eyes.

'Hermione?' Ron sluggishly sat up. He looked terrible, with his skin pale yet smudged with dirt, red hair tangled and darkened with filth, clothes slightly torn and soiled. Hermione imagined she didn't look much different. He touched his forehead gingerly. 'Are you alright?'

Hermione frowned, and realised there was a stinging pain on her cheek, where she had been lying on the stone floor. She nodded. 'I'm fine.'

'Where the hell are we?' Ron asked, looking around.

Hermione studied the place, but there were no identifying characteristics of this place. 'I don't know,' she said, standing with creaking knees to look outside the window of the door to the cell. There was nobody outside, all she could see was continual stone corridors, and a torch that burned with almost blue-green flames. That must be why their light was so peculiar. She pushed at the door, pulled at it, and it did not give way. She banged it again.

'Looks like we're prisoners,' Ron said glumly. He kicked the door, and it did not budge. 'Locked in.' He reached inside his pockets for his wand – it wasn't there.

Hermione felt for hers too. Nothing.

'So they've nicked our wands,' Ron said, disgustedly. 'Why would they want to capture us?'

His words jolted Hermione back to her usual, analytical self, and her mind recalled the words of Harry one night long ago. She shut her eyes fearfully as she suddenly remembered Harry's dream. '_Both of you, lying in a dungeon. It is cold and dark … you are both white with cold. Ron has a cut across his forehead, you look like your arm and cheek has been scratched._'

He had described their injuries exactly, she looked down to see the scratches on her right arm. And, judging from Ron's appearance, they were both white with cold. It was dark, and they were in a dungeon. She shuddered involuntarily.

'What's wrong?' Ron asked, concerned.

'Nothing,' she said automatically, not wanting to worry her friend. So, that dream hadn't just been an empty dream – more a premonition. Sent by Voldemort? She frowned, though. She and Ron weren't dead, so Harry had worried about them heedlessly. They weren't dead! This fact made her grin jubilantly, although a nagging fear remained. What else had Harry dreamt about?

Try as she might, she could not remember, but even as she sifted through her mind, Hermione remembered what the events that had happened yesterday, or rather, the night before yesterday. Draco. 'I'd bet you anything Lucius Malfoy has something to do with this,' Hermione said angrily, giving the offending door one last final shove.

'Of course he does. He's a stinking Death-Eater,' Ron scowled.

'No, I mean he really has something to do with it,' Hermione repeated.

Ron looked at her cautiously. 'How would you know?

Hermione hesitated. It would mean telling Ron about her temporary friendship with Draco … but she had to tell somebody! Now that she remembered Draco's treacherous role in their _friendly_ relationship, the memories and thoughts were driving her insane, and she felt strongly the urge to spill it all out.

'Well, you know how Malfoy and I are in the same Arithmancy class,' she said slowly. That was the best approach. Go subtly.

Ron nodded.

'I kind of became a just little bit friendly with him,' Hermione admitted. 'Speaking terms,' she added hastily.

Ron stared, horrified at her. 'You what?' he gasped.

'Don't be silly,' she snapped, Ron's reaction, a severe contrast to Harry's own, jarred at her. 'I thought he could change.'

'You –you –fraternised with the enemy?' Ron said, aghast. 'What would Harry say?'

'Harry knows,' Hermione said coolly. 'And he behaved a lot more maturely than you are doing now.'

'Harry's an idiot,' Ron just said, but he did cool down a little, taking the professed lead of Harry.

'Anyway, I thought Malfoy wasn't all that bad,' Hermione continued hurriedly, 'but then, the night before you and I went out to Hogsmeade, we were studying in the library, and I found the photo.'

'What photo?' Ron asked, puzzled, clearly not remembering.

'When my house was broken into in the summer, that photograph, which was torn? Remember, the photo of all three of us? With me torn out?'

Light dawned in Ron's face. 'He had it?' he said incredulously.

Hermione nodded, grimly. 'I see it all now,' she said. 'He was trying to be friends with me, just so he could lead me into this trap.' Tears sprang into her eyes when she thought about it all again. 'Damn him!' she cried out suddenly, and kicked the bulky door. More subdued. 'He betrayed me.'

Ron went over to the now sobbing girl, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. 'Don't worry, Hermione,' he said, unsure of what to say, but saying it anyway. 'When I see him, I'll give him a big kick in the arse.'

'_If _we ever get out of here,' Hermione muttered darkly, a little embarrassed her feelings had run loose concerning _him_.

'We don't need to get out of here. If Malfoy were involved, surely we'd see him here,' he reminded her.

'Let me kick him first,' Hermione said viciously, one hand forming into a fist.

'Alright,' Ron said, a grin tugging his mouth, as Hermione began swearing at Draco Malfoy.

***

Draco Malfoy moped about in the library. No_, Malfoys did not mope_, he mentally corrected himself, and sighed, giving up all lost vestiges of dignity as his mind returned to his earlier thoughts. He was definitely moping, and all because of Granger. Completely ridiculous.

He wondered absently what had happened last night when Hermione had rushed out of the library like that. He had come back to the desk after looking up some obscure fragment of Persian magical history, to find that Hermione had just vanished with her books. He asked a nearby student where she was, and the student just said that she had rushed off very quickly for a reason the student was not privy to. Maybe she had to go to the toilet or something like that. Draco wasn't too fussed. Girls could be strange sometimes.

But now, the thought of Hermione was prancing about in Hogsmeade with that useless Weasel, while he had to sit in the library all by himself, really annoyed him no end. Besides, he thought peevishly, he needed help on his Transfiguration assignment.

He scowled. _Admit it, Draco, you miss her company,_ a little voice spoke at the back of his mind. Shut up little voice. He just needed her Transfiguration help.

Draco sighed again, like some melancholy, love-stricken Medieval sorceress, and finished the rest of his work as best as he could with Hermione's expertise, until about six, whereupon he headed to the Great Hall for dinner. He sat himself down at the Slytherin table, looking automatically towards the Gryffindor table for her. He scanned the table rapidly, but could see no sign of her. Potter was there, talking to Thomas and Finnigan, but Hermione (or Weasley for that matter) could not be seen at all. Obviously, they were late back from their oh-so-charming little date.

'Draco, what's wrong?' Pansy Parkinson purred. 'You look out of sorts.'

'I am out of sorts, Pansy,' Draco said shortly, turning to look for conversation elsewhere.

'Would you like me to make you less out of sorts?' Pansy asked suggestively, almost visibly licking her lips in a way that made Draco want to shudder.

'I'm sure Goyle would love it,' Draco just said, directing his attention to Blaise Zabini, who had just sat down, instead, with some relief. 'Blaise, did you check up on those points Justin Finch-Fletchley took away from one of our students?'

It was a trivial matter, where the Hufflepuff prefect had taken away thirty points from a sly-faced first year Slytherin, which the kid claimed was unfair since it wasn't his fault. Personally, Draco felt that just looking at the Slytherin kid would make anybody want to take points off him, but he was a Slytherin, and had to uphold his House's honour.

Blaise nodded. 'Finch-Fletchley admitted it was a mistake,' she said, richly-toned voice smoothly bland. Draco chuckled inwardly, wondering what methods Blaise had employed to "encourage" Finch-Fletchley to admit he was in the wrong. 'The points were returned to our House.'

Draco nodded approvingly, and looked around at the other fifth years near him. Crabbe and Goyle were slobbering over their food, disgustingly; the other Slytherin boys talked in a mixture of sneaky, creepy and plain thuggish movements; while Pansy and her little cliche of girls gossiped loudly, glancing slyly around the Hall as they did so to pinpoint the objects of their blathering. In Draco's opinion, Blaise was the only decent fifth year in Slytherin. The Slytherin fifth-years were a particularly pathetic group of beings.

He looked over to the fourth years, and the third years. Lars Ingrid and Michael Edwards, his Beaters, were sitting amongst the fourth years, while Yuki Kamno and Gregor Pleyel, his Chasers were absorbed in what was obviously a Quidditch involved conversation with others of their fellow third years. He wished he were with them instead of among the terribly dull and malicious fifth years, except that it was socially not allowed in the Slytherin strata. Rank and hierarchy was very important to the Slytherins, and each year sat with each year group. Tedious.

Again, he lifted his eyes to the Gryffindor table, to again see no Hermione. At the conclusion of the meal, Hermione had made not made any appearance, and Draco frowned. Something was up. She never skipped meals, probably to maintain good behaviour at the Gryffindor table and prevent any points being taken from her House. Draco decided to go to the Library to study, since there wasn't really any point practising Quidditch, and found himself missing Hermione even more as he continued with his pitiful attempts at a difficult Transfiguration essay. He missed having the arguments they had been having a couple of days ago on Arithmancy too, as he revised that topic.

At about eleven, Draco headed back to his dormitory, a feeling of discomfit in region of his shoulder blades. He sat down on his bed, about to change, when he brushed his chest just slightly while reaching his hand up to run through his hair. And felt a definite sense of fear, that accompanied the certain knowledge of where Hermione was.

__

Shit.

His heart raced, and he felt panic seep through his veins, and forced himself to calm down. Action was needed, and he would take it instantly. But not alone. No – there was somebody else who was involved in the mess too. He pulled his cloak back on, and walked swiftly out through the Slytherin Common Room and out. He hurtled upwards, and finally found the stairs that led towards the Gryffindor Tower, and its portrait of the Fat Lady. Draco had discovered the Gryffindor Common Room's location quite by mistake, and had overheard the other day, a couple of first years discussing their password of all things. Gryffindors could be so naïve and trusting at times.

He hoped they hadn't changed the password since then, and spoke aloud now, squarely facing the fat lady in the pink dress. 'Godric.'

The lady in the portrait looked suspiciously at him. 'You're not a Gryffindor, are you.' It wasn't a question, it was a decided statement.

'No, I'm not,' Draco admitted honestly, hoping she wouldn't be too difficult about that fact. 'But I _have_ to get in. It's a matter of extreme urgency.'

The fat lady continued, as if he had not even spoken. 'In fact, you're a Slytherin.'

'Look,' Draco said, trying to be patient. 'This is really important and it concerns the welfare of one of your precious Gryffindors,' he said flatly. 'I'm a Prefect,' he flashed his silver badge, 'and therefore should be considered trustworthy.' That was thin, he knew. Hell, Tom Riddle had been Head Boy. 'If you get into trouble about this, I'll personally explain everything to both Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, and you won't get removed or anything.'

She didn't budge.

'Look,' Draco tried, 'I'm not the Dark Lord, or Sirius Black. I'm not Grindelward, or Salazar Slytherin …'

Her suspicious look did not alter, but she did interrupt his ravings about 'dangerous' wizards. 'Who are you?' 

'Draco Malfoy,' he replied, trying to put as much innocence as he could into his name, which could sound a bit malevolent at times. 'A prefect,' he added again for good measure. 'Who gave the correct password.'

'I won't forget you,' she warned him as she swung open.

'I wouldn't expect you to,' Draco batted his eyelids at her, before clambering through the portrait hole. He barely even glanced at the empty Gryffindor common room, and raced up the spiralling stairs, looking into each dormitory (and scaring a couple of first years who had stayed up to play a game of Gobstones) for a certain messy-haired fifth year with a famous scar on his forehead.

'Trust Potter to complicate matters by being right up at the top,' he muttered as he finally found the dormitory he had been searching for. He went in, found the wonder-boy, and shook him, probably a little harder than absolutely necessary.

'Wha?' Harry said, looking at him blearily. 'Ron?'

__

Honestly! Who could mistake him for that red-haired idiot? Fool! 'Wake up, Potter,' Draco hissed, affronted.

'Malfoy,' Harry sat up, blinking his eyes rapidly in astonishment. 'What the hell are you doing in here?' he demanded of the blond Slytherin, sitting up at once. His hair was all over the place, a complete contrast to Draco's rather neat appearance.

'Hermione's missing,' Draco said bluntly.

'What?' Harry's face paled. Then, he looked at him dubiously. 'You're having me on. Now, how did you get in?'

Draco gritted his teeth. 'I'm serious, Potter,' he insisted. 'Hermione's missing. She's gone. You know, vanished, poof of light and smoke, disappeared, _missing_.'

Harry put on his glasses to see more clearly, and glanced around the dorm. Then, incredibly, he smiled, making Draco think he was dealing with either an insane fool or a dumb fool. 'Ron's missing too.'

'Brilliant, but what does that have to do with anything?'

'The Astronomy Tower's a popular venue at this time of night,' Harry said blandly.

'Hermione's not stupid, and I can tell you that at this moment she's a lot further away from her dorm than the Astronomy Tower,' Draco snapped impatiently. Potter could be thick. If it weren't for the fact that he needed some help, he would never have even gone near the four-eyed git. 'Are you going to listen to me? She's gone. Kidnapped.'

'What?' Harry asked, shocked, and his eyes going wide.

'Kidnapped. K-I-D-N-A–' Draco sarcastically began spelling out the word.

'Why? What about Ron?' Harry asked, jerking his head towards the empty bed next to his.

'She was with the Weasel this afternoon, wasn't she. They never came back from Hogsmeade,' Draco said thoughtfully. 'Maybe Weasley got taken as well.' He shrugged. He wasn't all too fussed about Weasley's non-appearance.

'I don't believe you,' Harry said flatly, distrust written plainly in his face. 'I'm sure she's fine.'

'Then we are going to go to the girl's dormitory, and I will _show_ you that Hermione isn't in bed,' Draco announced.

'I am _not_ going into the girl's dorm,' Harry said, blushing bright red.

'Yes you are, if it's going to take that to prove to you that she is missing. Hurry up,' Draco said, heading to the door.

'No, you don't,' Harry grabbed Draco before he could leave. He hastily dragged on a warm cloak. 'I'll go. I won't get caught, and if you, a Slytherin, were found in a Gryffindor girls' dorm you'd get in serious trouble.'

'Like you'd care,' Draco retorted dryly, as he watched Harry dig about in his trunk, and finally pull out a silvery, shimmering fabric, whereupon his jaw dropped. 'So that's how you did it,' he said, annoyed.

'Did what?' Harry asked confusedly.

'Make your charming head show up outside the Shrieking Shack in third year,' Draco reminded him. 'I knew I wasn't hallucinating,' he added, disgusted.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' Harry said, a little guiltily.

'When we finish this I'm going to clear up that matter,' Draco added, scowling at the cloak.

Harry scowled back as he pulled on the Invisibility Cloak and went outside the dormitory. Draco waited impatiently, hoping to hell that none of the other boys would wake up while he was still in their dorm.

Harry returned quickly. 'Alright, she's not there,' Harry reported.

Draco gave a small sigh. There had been some minor hope that he had been mistaken, that the basis for his beliefs were flawed, but it was clear that was not to be. 'Get dressed. We're leaving,' Draco said shortly.

'What?' Harry exclaimed.

'Shut up!' Draco hissed, just as Neville spoke up in the darkness.

'Harry?'

Draco grabbed Harry's Invisibility Cloak to cover himself just as Neville opened his eyes. Stupid, daft idiot!

'You alright, Harry?'

'Yeah, Neville,' Harry lied. 'Just went to the bathroom and tripped over a bit.'

'Right,' Neville said, sleepily. Harry and Draco both waited, before Neville's breathing evened into the steady rhythm of a sleeping person. 

'Now be quiet and stay quiet,' Draco ordered in a voice barely above a whisper. 'Get changed. We're going to go and get her back.'

'Where? What's happened to them?' Harry asked incoherently as he picked up some clothes to change into.

'What do you think's happened to them? Hermione suddenly decided it was a pleasant time to elope with Weasley?' Draco asked sarcastically. '_Think_, Potter. She's been kidnapped,' he repeated, wondering how many times he had to say that to knock it into that thick brain of Potter's. Belatedly, he realised his last statement had sounded just a touch melodramatic, but then again, Voldemort appeared to like melodrama. It was part of the job description of a psychotic, raving lunatic.

Harry's face went green, and Draco, watching him connect the dots in his head, realised that maybe Potter wasn't as stupid as he sometimes seemed. At any rate, it seemed that he had realised that attacking one's friends was always a good way to lay the bait. '_The dream_,' he whispered, his green eyes almost glazed as they stared outside at the moon, and he shivered visibly even as a light draught blew cold air gently into the room.

Draco stared at him (_what was going on_?) and snapped his fingers in front of Harry. 'Hello? Anybody in there?'

Harry started, and recollected himself.

'I'll meet you at the Entrance Hall ASAP,' Draco said briskly. 'Bring your Invisibility Cloak and your Firebolt,' he added as an afterthought.

'Why?'

'Were you planning on walking all the way?'

'Oh. Right.'

Draco ran down the stairs taking them three at a time, and then hurried out of the Gryffindor common room, pushing open the portrait quickly.

'Say thank you!' the fat lady reprimanded him primly.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Thanks!' he hollered back as loudly as he dared without alerting Filch who was always on the prowl, and sprinted back to his dorm.

In about fifteen minutes, Draco and Harry were flying through the air out of Hogwarts castle, Harry on his Firebolt and Draco on his Nimbus 2001. Both had changed into more practical clothing – Harry into a pair of old jeans, t-shirt and thick sweater as well as his cloak, while Draco wore all black, with loose fitting pants, t-shirt and turtle-neck sweater on top. He too had his cloak, for the night air they entered was rather chilly.

In addition, they had made a small sidetrip to the Hogwart's kitchen, scaring poor Dobby, who had stayed up late to proudly count his sock collection, out of his wits as they picked up some food and drink to take with them. Harry had his invisibility cloak, and both boys carried their wands.

'Do you think Voldemort caught Hermione and Ron just to get at me?' Harry asked Draco as they flew. He remembered his dream all the more vividly, and shut his eyes in horror, which of course was a little stupid, because his broom instantly dipped. He opened his eyes hurriedly, setting himself straight.

Draco nodded curtly. 'He's setting out the bait.'

'Then,' Harry paused, struggling with his thoughts, 'we're taking the bait?'

Draco shrugged. 'In a way.'

Harry looked at him incredulously. 'Are you trying to get us killed spectacularly, or what?'

'The "or what" option.' Draco gave a huge, exaggerated sigh, then spoke slowly, as if to a child. 'Potter, we're going to – what's that word you Gryffindors love? – ah, yes. We're going to _rescue_, your friends. We're not going to be walking into a trap.'

'And how's that?' Harry demanded, a little belligerently it must be admitted. He was, after all, worried to death about his two friends, and also a little dubious about Draco Malfoy who was his official arch-nemesis at school. He was also a little cranky at being on his broomstick flying off at this hour – just after midnight.

'Because I'm here,' Draco said, carelessly. 'In case you hadn't realised, two is usually a hell of a lot better than one.'

'Not when that other one's Malfoy,' Harry said darkly.

Draco gave him a sunny smile. 'I agree perfectly. If the other one is Draco Malfoy, two is a million and one times better than one,' he said smugly.

'That's so sad,' Harry commented irritably. He pushed his hair out of his eyes as the wind blew it into his face.

'Besides, I'm a Death-Eater's son. An Inner Circle Death-Eater's son. I _know_ Voldemort's tricks,' Draco continued. The news came as no surprise to Harry, who knew Lucius Malfoy was of the Inner Circle.

'All of them?' Harry said doubtfully.

'Okay, only some of them. And I don't think either Voldemort or my father counted on me coming along and turning rebel.'

'You're turning rebellious?' Harry pretended to look absolutely shocked. 'Is this a public statement that the dreadful, cruel, cold-hearted Draco Malfoy is turning good? That underneath all this, he's a softie filled with compassion and love and bravery and courage …' Harry said sarcastically.

'Please, Potter,' Draco held up a hand. 'Do not even _think_ of ruining my reputation at school.' 

Harry was at a loss for something to say at this. Finally, he spoke. 'How long will we be flying?'

'If I've figured it out correctly, I'd say a day and a half to two days. Depends how fast we travel.'

Harry grunted. They had packed enough food for that.

'Where exactly are we going?' he asked Draco curtly.

'The way we're going now,' Draco responded. Very uninformative.

'How would you know?' Harry asked sullenly.

'Trust me,' Draco grinned. This just made Harry even grumpier.

'But why are you doing this?' Harry demanded. 'Why should I even trust you in this?'

The pale boy turned his head away, face expressionless, yet not so if one looked at his grey eyes, almost silver with the glimmer of the moonlight on his pale, marble-like face. 'I don't want Hermione hurt,' he said so softly, Harry almost did not hear him.

Author's Notes: Sorry about the later than usual update, been busy. Thank you to my two wonderful reviewers!

Cinnamon - It was shock, and fear. Imagine yourself in that situation. You'd be pretty freaked out too, wouldn't you?

Lady Prongs - I'm glad you thought the quidditch game was alright. I had a feeling you'd be pleased about Ron and Hermione breaking up since you're quite anti-R/Hr. As for your question "will they be alright?" (evil cackle! we'll see!)


	12. Kicking, Swearing and Missing

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine … all JKR's of course.

Chapter 12 – Kicking, Swearing and Missing

Hermione kicked the door in a burst of anger.

'Is anyone out there?' she yelled futilely.

She and Ron had been kicking and screaming through the window in the door, wanting a response of some sort from their abductors. And getting absolutely nothing. Nil.

'I want out,' Hermione kicked the door again. The door did not even show so much as a dent from Hermione and Ron's efforts to seriously batter it. It stood as straight as it had before. 'Bastard,' she muttered, referring of course to Draco Malfoy.

Ron had heard her every opinion about Draco. She had been swearing rather vocally, actually, ever since she had revived a little from being so ungraciously knocked out, and after about half an hour of insults, had begun repeating herself. Then, she tried swearing in some of the Ancient magical languages she'd picked up a bit in Ancient Runes, even spitting a bit when it came to swearing in Dwarvish. For some reason, she also swore a couple of phrases in what sounded like Ancient Greek. Ron never knew that Hermione had such an extensive, dirty vocabulary, and felt rather relieved that he didn't understand the Runic curses. The English ones were bad enough already. He, of course, was also angry, but somehow, he felt that Hermione took it more personally.

'Lying bastard,' she added for the forty-seventh time since Ron had started counting that favourite phrase of hers, lashing out at the door with her foot again.

'I wish we could have some case of spontaneous magic now,' Ron said thoughtfully. 'I mean, we're angry enough,' he said, also adding another kick to the valiantly standing door.

'The room's probably magicked against any form of magic,' Hermione said, scowling blackly. 'We could have been doing spontaneous magic, but it wouldn't possibly react if it'd been spelled against it.' She kicked the door again, a little too hard, and gave a slight grunt with pain. 'This door is going to ruin my feet,' she said darkly.

'If it got us out of here, I wouldn't mind ruining my feet,' Ron said, giving the door an extra hard kick. He sat down abruptly. His foot also hurt now.

Hermione looked a little more rational now. She only swore once every two minutes or so now, so after a few more minutes, Ron prudently judged it safe to talk. He had never imagined a situation like this, where he was being sensible, and she was enraged beyond thought.

'Why do you think we're here?' Ron asked her. He had been wondering about their abduction, and wondered why, and hadn't really figured out a reason really. It wasn't like either of them were rich, so there wouldn't be much of a ransom. There was another thought that nagged at his mind, that it could be because of Harry, but he pushed that away firmly. That thought made him worried, and he didn't like being worried about that.

'Why do you think?' Hermione snapped. She kicked the door again.

'Hermione!' Ron said sharply. 'You've got to stop doing that!'

'Stop doing what?' Hermione retorted.

'Being so stupid,' Ron said lamely, trying to think of a better word. Calling Hermione stupid usually wasn't the wisest thing to do. 'You're not thinking sensibly and logically,' he added. 'And that won't help. Swearing and kicking won't help, but some practical logic would. You're usually good at that.' Maybe complimenting would work.

Hermione looked at Ron. Her busy brown hair was a complete mess, giving her a rather wild and fierce appearance, but she calmed down. Ron never spoke to her like that, and it brought her back down to earth. Draco Malfoy was a lying bastard, yes, but she realised quickly that she would never outwit him if she behaved like this.

She sat down opposite Ron, calming down a bit.

'I think we're being used to trap Harry,' she said. She hesitated about using Voldemort's name. She had a bad feeling he wasn't that far off, and using his name could give him a power over her. She wasn't as strong a witch as Harry or Dumbledore. 'He-who-I-usually-name-but-won't-right-now is probably using us as a form of bait. He doesn't give a shit about us, but he does about Harry. And we're Harry's friends. It's too hard to capture Harry, but we're much easier prey. So Harry will come and try and rescue us, and get caught, once he's out of Dumbledore's protection,' Hermione finished gloomily.

Ron's mild brown eyes went wide. 'We have to get out!' Ron said. The little nagging fear had come right out into the open, and didn't make him feel any better.

'I think that's the general idea, Ron,' Hermione said helplessly. 'Can _you _think of anything, though?'

Ron sighed, shaking his head. Things were worse than he had thought. 'All we can do is wait,' he said gloomily.

'And kick the door,' Hermione got up, but Ron pulled her back down.

'How can you escape if your feet are bruised and painful?' he pointed out reasonably.

Hermione considered his words. They were sort of true. 'Okay,' she said. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to centre and focus herself. 'Let's do some revision instead!' she said brightly, hitting on a wonderful alternative.

'We don't have our textbooks,' Ron said, voice troubled as he regarded his studious friend.

'We can go through _1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi_,' Hermione said firmly. Now that the idea had come to her head, it was suddenly very appealing. Anything would probably be a good substitute to door-abuse and incessant fretting. 'It can be quite relaxing if you just recite it,' she added. 'I tried studying it in my head while we were waiting for the plane to Australia.'

Ron grimaced.

'Just repeat after me,' Hermione assured him. And began. 'Monkshood is a plant with purple flowers, and can be used in both poisons and …' 

***

'Exactly where are we going?' Harry demanded for what must have been the umpteenth time.

Draco wanted to scream. Harry was worse than a little kid on a car trip. He had always known Harry Potter was annoying as hell, but he had thought that maybe there was something admirable about him, since he always managed to get out of such remarkable situations where his life was on a line, but on second thoughts, maybe not. Maybe Harry Potter just had pure dumb luck.

'Look, just trust me,' Draco gritted out.

'You've been saying that too much,' Harry said testily. He was very uncomfortable. They had been flying non-stop since they had started, and now that the day had dawned, the sun had beat swelteringly upon them. Although the rushing wind as they flew sought to cool them, they could still feel the sun, since they were so high up.

'Well I'm sorry,' Draco snapped. He touched his hand to his chest again in a curious gesture he repeated so often, then jerked his head left. 'That way.'

'How would you know?' Harry questioned, but obeyed and swerved left.

'Because I just do, okay?' Draco scowled. 'Don't you ever trust anybody, Potter?'

'Yes, but not you,' Harry said angrily. 'I don't usually go around trusting the sons of Death-Eaters,' he said, irritated as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

'_I _am not a Death-Eater,' Draco said automatically. 'You should stop assuming the worst about people,' he added sarcastically.

'How should I know what you say is true? For all I know, you could have kidnapped Hermione and Ron, and now you're just trying to trap me so you could hand me over to Voldemort and get into his "Inner Circle" or something,' Harry said, frustrated.

'Potter, if I wanted to get into the Inner Circle, I wouldn't have to do anything this extreme,' Draco retorted.

Harry bit his lip, wondering what Draco had meant. He really had no idea what he was doing, and had a feeling the only reason he had believed Draco initially was because he was a) foggy from sleep, and b) trusting Hermione's trust in Malfoy. But now, he was much more awake, and much more alert to the fact that he may have been duped.

'How much longer?' he asked Draco finally.

Draco cocked his head, considering. 'Maybe we'll get there by tonight,' he said.

Harry groaned. This was a long trip to do by broomstick, especially in the company of Draco Malfoy, his official arch-nemesis.

***

Ginny Weasley woke up on Monday morning and, as was usual, her thoughts turned to the face she had dreamt about that night, as with all other nights. She sighed. Harry Potter.

It was a curse, she had decided long ago, to be so completely infatuated with him. When she wasn't near him, she felt completely fine. Confident, likeable, and quite popular. Even though she would doodle his name over and over in her notes. However, when he appeared, she found it difficult to formulate words and listen to the voices of others. It was like nothing else existed, and it wasn't healthy behaviour.

__

This is not right, she scolded herself. _And you should stop behaving like a lovestruck idiot_, she added mentally. Harry obviously wasn't interested in the likes of her. He _knew_, she was mortified, that she was nursing the biggest crush there ever was, but did nothing about it. She still shuddered at the memory of the first year Valentine she had sent him when she had been young and inexperienced. Her ears still burned when she remembered Fred and George singing the words to the Valentine over and over … she would never ever do something like that again.

It made it no better that he was her brother's best friend. She had to see him all the time. Even in the holidays.

Frowning, Ginny sat up. There were many other people in the school who liked her, she decided resolutely. Colin Creevey for example, even though Ginny wasn't crazy about him although she did go to the Costume Ball with him. He was just a bit short, and too admiring of Harry for her taste. Matt Nicholson from Ravenclaw, although he was a little too tall and skinny for her taste. Or Evan Daniels from Hufflepuff, but his nose was terrible!

__

Harry Potter…

Ginny swung out of bed. This was unwholesome. She wasn't a foolish first year any more, for crying out loud! She lifted her chin determinedly. She could live her life without Harry Potter and act like the mature fifteen-year old girl she was.

But he was so dreamy …

That was it! Infatuations were stupid things, and never amounted to anything. Ginny bustled into action, changing out of her pyjamas into her robes, washed herself, and went down, through the common room, into breakfast, all in one speedy move.

'Hi, Ginny,' one of Ginny's best friends, dark-haired, short, Jane Nicholson, twin sister of Matt Nicholson of Ravenclaw, greeted her.

'Good morning,' another friend, Chloe Smith said. She was a short, chirpy blonde, who tended to be a bit mad about anything boy-related. 'We've got Herbology first thing, with the Hufflepuffs,' she said cheerfully.

'I hate Herbology,' Jane complained. Ginny nodded as she sat down. She found the subject rather boring.

'But David Arlington is in that class!' Chloe protested. 'And since that new hair cut? Phoaw!' She pretended to fan herself.

'You can have David Arlington,' Jane said firmly. 'And Herbology. I could do without either of them.'

'But I bet you can't wait to get to Charms,' Chloe said slyly.

Jane's face went pink.

'What's this?' Ginny asked, feeling completely out of it.

Another Gryffindor fourth-year girl, Olive Dendy, leant inwards. 'Ed Buchanan is in that class,' she said giggling, twirling a lock of her glossy, dark, curly hair about a finger.

'What about you, Gin,' Jane hurriedly turned to Ginny, trying to veer the conversation away from her and Ed Buchanon.

'Oh, she's still got the hots for Harry Potter,' Chloe said, eyes sparkling with laughter.

Ginny's face just went bright red at the mere mention of Harry's name.

Chloe rolled her eyes in response. but in her opinion, four years was a bit too long for _anyone_ to go having a crush on somebody else for. Ginny felt it was probably better not to tell her that the infatuation had begun the year before, when she had glimpsed Harry at the station when seeing Ron off for the first time.

'Ginny, sweetie, Harry Potter's a bit out there. He's quite good-looking, yes, but he's too busy saving the world,' Olive said concerned for her fellow fourth-year.

'He mightn't be able to commit,' Chloe couldn't resist giving her well-meant advice.

Ginny sighed inwardly. She was fully aware of that fact, and even as they spoke, she looked about automatically for Harry, all the while, telling herself she ought to get out of that habit. Not catching sight of him, she forced her eyes back to her porridge, and the conversation of her friends. But after a while, she tuned out again, and her eyes began wandering again. Where was he?

Maybe she could ask Hermione casually. Except there was no sign of Hermione either, or Ron, for that matter.

'Hi Lavender,' Ginny said to the fifth-year girl who came in on the arm of her fair-headed boyfriend, Seamus Finnigan. 'Have you seen Hermione?'

'Hermione? No,' Lavender yawned as she sat down a couple of seats away. 'I thought she came down earlier. She usually does. Don't know how she wakes up at that unearthly hour,' she added, smiling wryly.

Ginny bit her lip. Ron too was missing. There was no sign of the famous trio. She wondered if she should be worried. Well, she was worried, but was there a plausible reason for her fears?

'Ginny! Are you alright?' Jane asked. Ginny blinked and focused on her friends.

'Yeah,' she lied. 'What do we have next?'

The other three girls gave each other hopeless looks. 'Herbology, remember?'

'With David Arlington,' Olive added artfully, shooting Chloe a mischievous look.

'Oh, right,' Ginny said.

'We're going now,' Chloe stood up. 'Are you done?'

'Yeah,' Ginny stood too. 'Got to get back to the common room first though,' she added. 'I don't think I've got all my books.'

'See you at class,' Olive called back, as Ginny darted upstairs to her common room, and headed straight to Hermione's dormitory. There was no sign of the Gryffindor prefect, and she came back out into the common room, biting her lip nervously.

'You look concerned, sister dear,' Fred said, coming into the common room at that moment, speaking grandiosely.

'Tell us all, we allay your fears,' George added in a bad attempt at rhyme that made both his siblings wince.

'Nothing's wrong,' Ginny said, hurriedly. She didn't want Fred and George teasing about fresh-pickled frogs again. She had long ago decided that Harry's eyes looked more like brilliant emeralds. And that sounded so much more romantic too. 

Fred stuck his face before Ginny. 'Something surely is amiss,' he announced, again with his ridiculous style of speech.

'As certain as I am a …' George continued, hesitating. He visually racked his brains for something to rhyme with "amiss."

'Piss,' Fred filled in.

'Stop it, George,' Ginny begged. Bad rhymes peeved her off no end. 'You too, Fred.'

'So what _is_ wrong?' George asked, making a face at his twin.

Ginny sighed. There was no escaping the twins, it seemed. 'I'm just wondering where Ron, Hermione and Harry are,' she admitted. 'I didn't see them at breakfast,' she said quickly, providing her justification.

Fred snorted with laughter, especially at Ginny's attempts to hide by naming Harry last, but George considered his sister's words, brown eyes serious. 'You're right,' he agreed. 'They weren't at breakfast. Maybe they're in their dorms,' he suggested.

Ginny shook her head. 'I checked Hermione's dorm, and she's not there,' she told the twins.

Fred looked just a little more serious when George jabbed his ribs hard. 'We'll check Ron and Harry's dorm,' George told Ginny. Ginny smiled, relieved. The twins, or George at least, were actually taking her seriously for once!

In moments, George was back with Fred. Their faces were grim. 'Neither of them were there,' George reported flatly.

'But we found this,' Fred brandished a scrap of old parchment. On it, to Ginny's amazement, was a complete map of Hogwarts, with moving little dots labelled all over with the names of students. She could see herself, Fred and George in the common room, and smiled to herself to see Chloe already in the greenhouse cosily next to the dot labelled David Arlington.

'Where is Harry Potter?' George commanded the map as he tapped its ragged edges with his wand.

There was a moment's pause, then a balloon appeared in the middle of a map, an answer scrawling itself in the balloon. '_Messrs Moony, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail regret to inform you Harry Potter is not on this map. Don't bother telling us when you find him, because we don't really care. Have a nice day!_'

Author's note: Sorry this above chapter was so short, but I couldn't really make it longer without complicating matters too much, so please put up with this short chapter length. This chapter also doesn't really establish much - it's sort of an in between chapter, but I promise, the next chapter will be up soon! I hope you don't mind all the new characters too much - they're not too important, just there to make it more … real. I mean, if you take Ginny's p.o.v. (hopefully nobody's too anti-Ginny), you've got to have other characters as well. And it was a bit of fun inventing Jane, Chloe and Olive and their corresponding male counterparts.

Cinnamon - Ron's not going to become an Einstein, but he does have some sense. His urge to punch does come out at times though, but don't worry. His sanity is intact. As for Harry, he hasn't turned into Mr Dumb. He's just a bit tired, and panicky, and that can do things to people. I've experienced it myself. Besides, a lot of that was sort of semi-Draco p.o.v, which would be more than a little biased.

Underscore - Thank you for a lovely review!

Lady Prongs - yes, it is rather uncomfortable isn't it.


	13. Plans

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated characters and stuff all belongs to JKR and Warner Bros, not me. Got it?

Chapter 13 – Plans

Hermione sighed. _1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi_ was getting just a little dull. They were about a quarter of the way through, and still, nothing had happened to them. Nothing. Big fat zero. Unless one counted the lump of stale bread and bowl of water that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the cell, which they had both fallen onto hungrily. The water was particularly appreciated. Reciting magical herbs and fungi was dry work, and now, Hermione and Ron were silent, their throats just a little too sore and swollen from reciting non-stop. However, every now and then, Hermione would pipe up with half-hearted attempt at giving the details of a random herb or fungus.

'Mistletoe, traditionally …' she began murmuring, but gave up. It was too much of an effort. She took another sip of the water, which was thankfully plentiful.

Ron was leaning back against the damp cell walls, eyes blank and staring at the wall opposite him, stuck in a daze from all the studying. Suddenly, he snapped out of it.

'We should escape,' he said abruptly.

'What?' Hermione asked, looking at him as if he had grown an extra nostril or something of the like.

'This is hopeless,' Ron gestured at the walls of the cell that almost seemed to close in on them. 'I'm not going to just sit here and wait for Harry to come.'

Hermione nodded, and then shook her head wearily. It was very admirable for Ron to have such sentiments but there was nothing they could do.

'Do you think anyone's noticed we're missing yet?' Ron asked her.

Hermione thought for a moment. 'Maybe. What time do you think it is?'

'Morning maybe? Late morning? Early afternoon?' Ron guessed vaguely.

'How about which day?' Hermione added wryly. She and Ron both had no idea how long they had been unconscious for. It could have been weeks for all they knew, although Hermione doubted that. It had been weeks, they would both be notably skinnier, with gaunt faces, and a lot more accumulated dirt on their bodies.

'I don't usually skip classes, so somebody must have noticed. Harry probably has,' Hermione thought out loud, bleakly. 'Harry would notice if we were missing.' Thinking about Harry made her fearful for his safety, although she longed to see his comforting face again, and she carefully tried to avoid thinking about it.

'Dammit,' Ron kicked the wall before him, and cast his eyes about. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the cell door, and stood up suddenly, groaning as his limbs creaked. He went over to the door and peered outside downwards.

'Well?' Hermione asked impatiently, as Ron made a noise of amazement.

'It's not actually locked,' Ron said incredulously.

'What?' Hermione jumped up quickly to the door. She too looked outside, although with effort, for she didn't have Ron's gangly height. He helped lift her up, and she breathed in, a grin breaking out onto her face, exultance coursing through her veins, heart pumping faster. 'It's only bolted from the outside,' she said, voice wondering and awed as Ron lowered her back to the ground.

Ron tried to stick his arm through the iron bars, but the gaps were too narrow, and his hand became stuck. 'Here you try,' he suggested to Hermione.

Hermione tried, but was too short, and again, Ron lifted her up, as she excitedly stuck her arm into the gap between the bars. 'Ouch!' she grimaced. 'My arm's stuck.'

And so it was.

'Can you reach the bolt?' Ron asked anxiously.

'No.' Hermione tried again, but the pressure on her arm was too great. She tried pulling her arm out. 'My arm is really stuck.'

She pulled back a couple times, and finally, landed with an _oomph _on the ground on top of Ron. They both scrambled up at once, while Hermione inspected her arm gingerly. No cuts or anything, she noted with relief.

'The bars,' Hermione said, frowning. 'They're rusty. Maybe we could break them?' she suggested.

'How?' Ron wondered. He put a hand on them and tried to shake them out, but although they creaked promisingly, stubbornly refused to give way.

Hermione looked about their little prison. None of the rocks that made the walls of the cell had given way, so they couldn't hope to bash their way through the rusting iron. But maybe the bowl which their water had been in. It was made of metal, and looked auspiciously solid.

She picked it up, reluctant to let the water spill. 'You could use this bowl and hit it,' she presented one idea.

'We'd lose our water,' Ron pointed out.

'We wouldn't need it if we'd escaped,' Hermione retorted, although she privately agreed with Ron. The plan may not work, and they would need the water for who knew when they would be resupplied?

She stared at the rusting iron bars, searching her mind for inspiration.

Ron kicked the door just a little impatiently. 'I wish we could make the bars rust just a bit more,' Ron said scowling at the rusting, but not quite rusted enough, bars.

__

Make the bars rust a bit more … the words echoed in Hermione's mind, and, a lightbulb appeared above her head. Hermione jumped up, eyes bright with enlightenment. 'You're a genius, Ron!' she exclaimed, and hugged Ron tightly.

Ron blushed bright red, and shrugged in her tight grasp. 'I thought we'd broken up, Hermione,' he said awkwardly.

Hermione chuckled. 'You're a genius!' she just repeated, but let him go.

'Thank you,' Ron said blankly.

'Do you think the bars are magicked?' she asked Ron, brain clearly working hard beneath her cranium.

'Maybe not,' Ron said, dubiously.

Hermione grinned. 'It wouldn't hurt to try.'

She took some water from the bowl, cupping it in her hands carefully, and poured it onto the bar on the edge that looked weakest, and also closest to the bolt.

'What are you doing?' Ron asked her, confused.

Hermione paused on her way back to the bowl to get more water. 'Rusting,' she explained. 'I found this out last summer because I was curious about the rusting happening on our garden shed in our backyard. I asked my cousin, who's an engineer.'

'Well?' Ron didn't look any more clued in.

'You can speed up the process of rusting,' she described as simply as possible. 'You need two essential things for rust to take place – water, and air. But you can speed it up. By adding a salt solution, and also by heating it up. Contact with a less active metal, such as copper, also helps.'

Hermione reached into her pocket. 'Isn't it interesting,' she said mildly. 'I just happened to have this copper coin. It's pure copper – it's also very old, but it's copper alright. And I think,' she hesitated, 'I should be able to produce a flame and heat it up from the outside without interference from any spells.'

Ron nodded. Producing blue-coloured flames had been Hermione's specialty – she had been able to do it since first year, and he had a feeling she could probably do it without a wand spontaneously if lucky.

'But where would you get salt from?' Ron had caught on to her plan, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation of freedom.

Hermione smiled wryly. 'Start crying. Now.'

***

Harry sighed wearily. It was unbearable. They had been flying non stop for over twelve hours, and Draco still hadn't suggested they stop. He was going forwards, pointed face determined, seemingly unaware of the hot sun that was a sharp contrast to the biting air that swept at them as they flew.

Harry's rear end was feeling delicate. He had never sat for quite so long, and despite the Cushioning Charm on his Firebolt, he still had the strong feeling that once he got off, he wouldn't be able to sit for awhile. In the meantime, his stomach growled embarrassingly a few times, each time causing him to give Malfoy a furtive look, hoping the other boy hadn't noticed. He hadn't eaten since dinner last night, which seemed a very long time ago to the adolescent, growing boy.

He flew on in silence for a few more minutes, before he finally burst out, unable to stand it any longer. 'Can't we stop for a while, or were you planning to keep going without any breaks?' he asked irritably.

Draco glanced over at Harry. To be completely truthful, Draco was a bit tired, not that he'd ever admit it to Harry. He wasn't quite as hungry as Harry was, but he was beginning to feel a little windswept. And despite Harry's belief that Draco did not even feel the sun, it was quite the opposite. Draco had begun regretting his decision to wear black ever since the sun came out. Black was all very well at night, but not in the glaring bright sunshine. Maybe he should have brought a white sunshade or something ridiculous like that.

'Tired, are we, Potter?' he drawled, unable to keep a smirk from his face. It was nice to see that Potter wasn't quite as faultless as he was supposed to be.

Harry's face went red. 'I'd like to regain my energy before we go crashing on,' Harry said, trying to retain some dignity.

'I suppose we could stop for a while,' Draco said patronisingly, the way a God would speak to mere mortals.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, ignoring this spot of condescension, and headed down towards a patch of grass next to a bubbling stream. He stumbled off his Firebolt in exhaustion, and collapsed onto the grass, while Draco more decorously got off his Nimbus, and studied the area around him, before relaxing onto the grass in an casually elegant and tranquil pose.

Harry pulled off his rucksack which had been on his back. His contained food, while Draco's identical bag held drinks. He pulled out a couple of sandwiches.

'Here,' he chucked a sandwich to Draco, and began munching on his own contentedly.

Draco held the sandwich gingerly, and opened it. 'Ham,' he said, distastefully, getting a strong feeling of _déjà vu_.

'You got a problem with that?' Harry asked breezily, feeling very comfortable now that he was lying down, shaded from the sun, and being fed.

'I'm allergic to ham,' Draco said smoothly. No need for Potter to know. It had taken Crabbe and Goyle weeks to stop laughing at him about his vegetarian habits in first year, and he'd been labelled several not very nice terms by many of the others for weeks before he'd managed to get them to shut it.

Harry rolled his eyes, as he dug into the rucksack again. 'Have a quiche,' he handed over a small round quiche to Draco. 'Dobby's packed a feast in here,' he commented amiably as he sank his teeth into his sandwich again.

Draco broke open the quiche, studied the contents, and put it carefully down on his lap. Harry didn't realise he wasn't eating, until he'd polished off his first sandwich, whereupon he stared at Draco.

'Not hungry?'

'I'm allergic to bacon,' Draco said curtly.

Harry shrugged, took the quiche to eat himself, and dug about in the rucksack. 'There's a sausage roll,' he suggested.

'I'm allergic to the stuff inside.'

'Are you allergic to everything?' Harry complained. 'No wonder you're so weedy.'

'I am _not_ weedy,' Draco said hotly. 'And even if I were to be considered so, at least I have a reason. My allergies. You, on the other hand, don't.'

'I'm not weedy!' Harry exclaimed.

'You most definitely are,' Draco said decisively.

'I'm taller than you are,' Harry protested, trying to prove his "manliness."

'How tall?'

'Five foot eight,' Harry answered.

Draco smiled smugly. 'Five foot eight and a bit.'

'You're lying,' Harry said bluntly.

'And I'm still growing,' Draco added. 'Grew two inches in the holidays.'

'You so are not taller than me!' Harry retorted. He stood up. 'Compare.'

Draco shrugged, and complied. They stood back to back, and rather childishly, kept trying to measure who was taller. Any onlooker would have seen at once that they were the exact same height, but neither of the boys would ever accept that.

'I'm taller,' Draco said finally.

'Are not,' Harry said automatically. Then, sick of squabbling, sat down, and continued eating the quiche.

'Pass me the bag,' Draco ordered. Harry shrugged and passed it over, and Draco dug about the contents, and eventually, pulled out a salad roll, satisfied. Evidently Dobby hadn't forgotten that his past master had been a vegetarian. With luck, Harry wouldn't have to know.

Harry ate quickly, and soon, settled down on the grass, stomach remarkably contented, while Draco sat, playing with his wand, as he too rested. It was all actually very pleasant, Harry thought drowsily, with the warm sunshine playing on his face, the sound of water bubbling, and the swishing sound of a breeze tousling the leaves on the trees and the long blades of grass. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that Draco Malfoy were sitting not far from him, he would feel extremely content and satisfied.

His eyelids grew heavier, and he let them drop gratefully, as his mind lulled itself to rest.

__

Kill the spare … a flash of green light …

Harry gasped, and sat up, his eyes wide open. Voldemort …

'What is it, Potter?' Draco asked, looking over at Harry quizzically.

__

Kill the spare. Harry shuddered. What if Voldemort were to kill Hermione and Ron, the 'spares?' He remembered all too fully again the dreams he had, both of Cedric, and of Hermione and Ron lying on stone floor … dead. 

'Potter,' Draco said impatiently. 'We'd better get moving.'

Harry nodded, and stood up and picked up his broom without a word, the pit stop over. The two returned to the air, and Draco, touching his hand to his chest again, jerked his head to the right.

'That way.'

***

Ginny, Fred and George virtually raced each other to the gargoyles that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office, using several short cuts.

'How did you know the way?' Ginny asked breathlessly as they skidded to a slower pace near the office.

'We've been here so often,' Fred shrugged. 'It's hard not to know if you've come here a dozen or so times.'

'I should have known,' Ginny said wryly. 'I'm surprised it's only a dozen times. I thought you two had gotten into trouble many more times. A dozen's quite tame really.'

'Of course we've been in trouble more,' Fred sounded injured by her suggestion. 'The other times we were dealt with solely by McGonagall or Snape or the others, so we didn't really need to come here.'

'Of course,' Ginny murmured politely. They had stopped, in front of the gargoyles, and Ginny stared at the imposing, grotesque statues with trepidation. She had only been to Dumbledore's office once, in her second year, and she couldn't remember anything about getting up there. She had been too distraught then. 'How do we get in?' she asked quietly.

George was consulting the Marauder's Map. 'The password's Canary Creams, apparently,' he said, voice surprised.

'Really?' Fred sounded pleased and satisfied. 'Our products are spreading.'

'That's a funny password,' Ginny commented as a gargoyle sprung aside.

'Dumbledore likes using sweets as passwords,' George explained. 'Maybe he thinks it's amusing or something.'

'He's just cracked, that's all,' Fred said flippantly as they stepped onto the spiralling, moving stairs. They reached the large doors in no time, and Ginny reached up a hand to knock, when the doors opened before them.

'Come in, Miss Weasley, Mr Weasleys,' the Headmaster's calm voice said.

Ginny and the twins entered the peaceful round room, with its soothing portraits of dozing past headmasters or headmistresses, and silvery whirring instruments. Fawkes, the phoenix, sat on his perch, regarding them with solemn eyes, his brilliant feathers gleaming brightly.

'What is the matter?' Dumbledore asked, light blue eyes serious yet in some way comforting. Those eyes quickly scanned the three teenagers from where he sat behind his desk.

'Harry, Ron and Hermione are missing,' Ginny blurted out. 'They're not in the school, and I've got a bad feeling about it all.'

Dumbledore's face paled just slightly under his long beard.

'Are you sure?' he asked, voice steady.

'We have our sources,' Fred said, trying to be vague and keep the Map secret.

'Ah, yes,' Dumbledore nodded, and the twins gave each other uncomfortable looks. Maybe their Map wasn't quite so secret. 'Where could they possibly be?' he mused, his hands clenched. Suddenly he looked over at the Weasley kids. 'Is anybody else in the school missing?' he asked sharply.

'We're not sure,' George said, perplexed by the question. Why would anybody else in the school be missing?

'Well do consult your sources and find out,' Dumbledore said patiently. He raised a brow as Fred and George gave each other awkward looks, and then turned around in his chair. 'I'm not looking,' he said, a little amused despite the tension that had not left his voice. 'Go ahead and ask your sources.'

Ginny hid a smile, as Fred and George quickly consulted their source – a ragged piece of parchment. And then both twin's faces turned, as one, a sickly white shade, before going greenish yellow. 'Sir, Malfoy's missing too,' Fred said, distaste dripping in his voice.

Dumbledore turned around at once, and Fred stuffed the Map into his pocket hurriedly. 'Draco Malfoy?' he asked, voice urgent.

Fred and George both nodded. 'Our source is reliable,' George added helplessly.

Dumbledore stood up, his face grim. 'We're going to have to take some course of action, then, it would appear.' He went over to the fireplace in the study, and threw glittering powder into it.

'Sirius Black,' he shouted.

The head of Sirius appeared in the flames then, and the three Weasleys' eyes widened. Sirius Black, escaped convict?

'What is it, Albus?' Sirius asked, looking at Dumbledore.

'Harry, Hermione and Ron are missing,' Dumbledore said crisply, and the Weasleys saw Sirius' eyes widen in fear. 'I want you to come to Hogwarts now. Get Remus and Mundungus on your way.'

'Right,' Sirius said, quickly, and his head faded from the flames.

Dumbledore held up a hand to throw more powder into the flames, but stopped mid action, and turned to the three Weasleys. 'I want you to go and get Professors Figg, McGonagall, Snape and Flitwick,' he ordered them.

'But sir –' Fred pointed his finger at the flames where the head of Sirius Black had been.

'Never mind that,' Dumbledore said crisply. 'Find the four professors.'

Fred, chastised, quietened. 'Where are they, sir?' George asked, his eyes confused, but ready to obey.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled just slightly. 'I would have thought your sources could tell you that.'

'Of course,' Fred said, abashed, and embarrassed.

At that moment, the doors were flung open, as a small figure rushed into the study. 'Professor Dumbledore, sir, Professor Dumbledore!' the high pitched squeaky voice of Dobby the House-Elf was heard.

'What is it, Dobby?' Dumbledore asked, astonished to see the house-elf come running into his study.

'Dobby has been wondering if he should tell you, and was wondering and wondering, because they said not to, but I decided I should. They may need help!' Dobby squeaked.

'Who are they?' Dumbledore asked sharply.

'Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy! They were in the kitchens at midnight, scaring poor Dobby. They wanted food, and they had their broomsticks. They said they were going on a journey away.'

'They were together?' Dumbledore asked, puzzled.

Dobby nodded vigorously. 'I sees them at midnight, I did,' he said, big tennis ball eyes goggling at the Headmaster.

'What is Draco Malfoy doing?' Ginny said out loud.

'Was he taking Harry as prisoner?' George asked Dobby.

'Was Malfoy taken along unwillingly?' Fred asked Dobby.

Dobby shook his head to both questions. 'It did not looks like it,' he squeaked. 'But I sees them – Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.'

A pensive look crept into the Headmaster's eyes, and Ginny could have sworn she heard him murmur to himself in an undertone. '_The Prophecy …but it cannot be _…'

The Headmaster nudged himself out of his reverie quickly. 'Hurry. You must go and get the professors,' he said urgently. Fred and George nodded, and dashed over to the doors to take the moving stairs back down, but Ginny paused in her steps.

'What are you doing, Professor Dumbledore?' she asked the old wizard, half-boldly, before she too ran to gather the Professors.

Dobby had seated himself next to the fireplace, still babbling, while Professor Dumbledore paused, before throwing the glittering powder he still held into the flames. 'Summoning the Order of Phoenix, Miss Weasley. Now hurry.'

Author's notes: I'm not sure if all the stuff on rusting is scientifically accurate. But, remember, they're magical, so they can break the laws of science, I think … Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. 

Lady Prongs - you're right. Manors are popping up about now. And Harry and Draco have had their rest!


	14. The Meeting and the Manor

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Virtually all of this is JKR's, except for a few characters you may not recognise. They're mine. Hands off!

Chapter 14 – The Meeting and the Manor

Ginny sat back down on a chair in Dumbledore's study, breathing hard. She had just gathered Professor Figg, who was currently talking to Dumbledore in low serious tones, along with Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick.

She watched, wide eyed, scared for her brother, Hermione, and Harry. After a few minutes, George returned with Professor Snape. Ginny gave him a guarded look. She knew he was supposed to be allied with the forces of good, but still, she felt apprehensive about the hooked-nose Potions master, although, after watching his seriously intent black eyes as he headed towards Dumbledore, and the look of acceptance that the Headmaster gave him, she felt just a bit more comforted.

By about four o'clock, however, Ginny was thoroughly bored. Professor Dumbledore had suggested much earlier to the three Weasleys that they could return to classes if they wanted, but all three had refused vehemently. They wanted _in _on the action that usually only the famous trio got. Besides, what was the point in going to History of Magic or Divination? Dumbledore had nodded, a faint smile on his face, and with a wave of his wand, had produced a plate of sandwiches for them to eat some lunch.

Now, Ginny was sprawled in her seat, idly watching Professor Dumbledore who was flicking through some heavy tomes of books. Professor McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape had left earlier to see to their students, but Professor Figg had remained, and was sitting in a corner, muttering to herself, eyes narrowed in thought.

Then, just when Ginny had a mind to go and leave, the doors to the study opened and a stranger walked in. Dumbledore and Arabella Figg, currently talking in a speech spell to somebody else, gave nods of welcome to the newcomer, who smiled back. Then, seeing nobody else, came over to Ginny.

'Hello,' he introduced himself with a wide grin. 'Jeremy Codex, at your service. You may call be Jem, if you please,' he added graciously.

Ginny couldn't help smiling. Something about his cheerful appearance and slightly outdated style of speech was somehow easy to take to.

'I'm Ginny Weasley,' Ginny introduced herself in turn.

'Lovely to meet you, my dear,' Jem Codex took her hand, and kissed it lightly, making Ginny blush all over. He looked to be about her age, maybe just a little older, with short, sandy hair, dancing hazel eyes, and just slightly pert nose. He wasn't terribly tall – probably about Harry's height, and was built leanly. He was kind of cute, actually, Ginny realised fairly quickly, and was dressed in slightly scruffy jeans, combat boots, and t-shirt.

'Stop flirting with the poor girl, Jem,' Arabella Figg growled over at the newcomer.

'Flirting!' Jem protested. 'I'm only getting acquainted, Arabella! Surely you wouldn't deny me that!'

Arabella snorted. 'Charmer,' she said, rolled her eyes, and went back to talking urgently through the speech spell.

Ginny, still blushing, stared at Jem. 'Are you a student?' At the merry burst of laughter that emitted from Jem, she flushed even redder. 'I mean, you look my age, but I don't think I've ever seen you at Hogwarts. You don't act like a student,' she added.

Jem grinned. 'I was a student at Hogwarts, a fair while ago.'

'So you're older,' Ginny said deductively.

'A fair bit,' he agreed amiably. 'I'm older than Arabella, although ever since she got on in her years she thinks it's fine for her to act older than me and boss me around.'

'How old are you?' Ginny asked, eyes wide.

Jem sighed. 'If I looked my age, I'd probably look like this.' Then, he seemed to blur, and before her stood a man in his seventies, with long white hair, wrinkled skin, and tired, hunched back. Ginny gaped, even as the man blurred, and turned back into Jem.

'What are you?' she asked, voice low, in awe. Fred and George, who had been sitting in a corner, boredly discussing their business, were also watching, eyes admiringly and apprehensively fixed on Jem.

'I'm a Metamorphmagus,' Jem shrugged.

'So why are you looking like you're a student? To try and become friends with us?' Ginny demanded.

Jem laughed. 'My dear, I wouldn't go into such extremes!' He stopped laughing a little, to explain. 'No, I first Metamorphed when I was sixteen, and I guess that is why my permanent form, the one I have when I'm not making any effort to Metamorph, is that of my sixteen-year old self.'

'So you really look like that old man earlier,' George said, wondering.

Jem shook his head. 'I don't know what I look like, what an older version of myself would look like. I can't seem to change myself into another age of me.' His expression turned slightly bitter. 'I'm doomed to remain eternally young, until the day I die.'

'Wouldn't most people want that?' Fred inquired shrewdly.

'Idiots would,' Jem said shortly. 'To do proper things in life, I have to take a form not myself. I'm never me.'

'I'm sorry,' Ginny said softly.

Jem smiled. 'Don't be, my dear,' he said. 'There are good and bad sides to being a natural Metamorphmagus. The good side is the fact that I _can_ change my shape at will.'

'Are there any other Metamorphmaguses? I'd never heard of it before,' George said, staring.

'Metamorphmagi,' Jem corrected. 'There aren't many, and there are varying degrees of skill at this. There was only one other Metamorphmagus in history before me who was as talented as I am,' Jem explained. 'Now, there is me, and only one other like myself. You will get others, but they're not quite as naturally advanced. They also tend to age, unlike myself.'

'Cool,' George said.

'Not really,' Jem said shortly, his boyish, ingenuous face darkening. The Weasleys looked at each other, uncomfortable, and Fred deftly changed the topic.

'Is it hard, or painful or anything?' the other twin asked, fascinated.

Jem smiled. 'It was at first, but not any more,' Jem demonstrated at that moment, changing himself into a cat, and then into one of the Weasley twins, startling Ginny at the sight of triplets! He then continued talking about his shapeshifting abilities while others arrived in a steady trickle.

Of the three members of the Order of the Phoenix who arrived last, two were easily recognisable by the Weasleys.

'Professor Lupin!' Ginny smiled happily to see the grey-haired werewolf who had been her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher when she had been in her second year. Remus Lupin smiled to see the three Weasleys, his haggard face lighting up momentarily.

Fred and George, though, had their hands pointed trembling at the tall man, with longish, black hair, who had walked in next to Remus Lupin.

'Sirius Black!' they gasped in unison. Ginny jumped, turning her attention to the escaped convict who had killed _thirteen_ people with one killing curse. In a flash all three Weasleys had their wands out and pointed at the black-haired man.

Sirius Black sighed resignedly. 'Albus, please?'

Professor Dumbledore had already taken control of the situation though. With little effort, the Weasleys found that their wands had been removed and were held by the headmaster. 'Ah, Miss Weasley, and Mr Weasleys, let me introduce you to Sirius Black, of the Order of the Phoenix, and god-father to Harry Potter,' he said mildly.

All three of them gaped.

'Sirius was Harry's father's best friend, along with Remus,' Dumbledore nodded to Lupin. Snape though, was scowling at Sirius.

'But those people killed –' George protested.

'Killed by Peter Pettigrew, who managed to escape and caused Sirius to be killed instead,' Dumbledore said firmly. 'Now, will you accept Sirius Black as someone you can trust?'

The three nodded dumbly, eyes wide, brains whirling. What else could they say? Clearly there was some explanation.

The Order of the Phoenix all took seats around a round table where they apparently met customarily. Fawkes, the phoenix, sat on a perch behind Dumbledore's seat, and extra room had been made at the table for the three Weasleys.

Ginny gazed about with wide eyes even as Dumbledore began speaking.

'Greetings,' Dumbledore said. He did not speak with his usual slow, thoughtful and measured pace, but quite urgently. 'This meeting is, as you already know, the result of an emergency situation. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley are missing from Hogwarts, a fact that was brought to our attention by Ginny Weasley and her two brothers, George and Fred Weasley. Ginny, Fred and George are the children of Arthur.'

The circle nodded gravely, recognition in their eyes.

'It may interest you to know that another Hogwarts student is also missing,' Dumbledore continued, blue eyes flickering around. 'Draco Malfoy.'

Those around the table drew breaths in, in surprised shock. 'Lucius Malfoy's son?' the voice of Alastor Moody growled. The paranoid Auror was sitting, hunched at his seat, a half scowl permanently on his face, as his artificial eye roamed the study perpetually.

Dumbledore nodded.

'Why would Draco Malfoy be missing?' Minerva McGonagall asked, a slightly sour expression on her face that made Ginny smile inwardly. Professor McGonagall clearly harboured suspicions about Draco Malfoy, Slytherin git. 'He will cause nothing but more trouble.'

There were murmurs of agreement around the trouble.

'Now, Minerva,' Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing the worries. 'I believe Draco's disappearance will be rather helpful. Don't be so unfair about him. You say yourself that he has improved himself this year, and he is a Prefect. He has done little to cause complaint this year.'

Professor McGonagall still looked doubtful.

'Get to the point, Albus,' Arabella Figg was leaning back in her chair, and watching everybody with a slightly amused expression. She didn't look too alarmed, but was definitely alert.

Dumbledore gave the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor a slight smile. 'Dobby, one of the House Elves at Hogwarts, told me that at midnight Harry and Draco went to the kitchens to get food supplies for a trip some place. Harry did not look to be following Draco's orders in anyway,' he told the Order of the Phoenix.

'Draco is helping Harry?' Snape asked, slightly incredulous. 'I know the boy is clever and intelligent. Maybe he is leading Harry further into a trap.'

Ginny thought it sounded weird to hear the Potions master referring to Harry by his name. He _always_ called him Potter, or the 'famous Mr Potter.' Never with such concern either.

'I do not believe so,' Dumbledore said, frowning, but then turned enigmatic eyes on the Order. 'However, young Mr Malfoy's involvement in these affairs is helpful, and gives us some conclusive evidence.'

Jem Codex, who sat to Ginny's left, suddenly grinned, and gave a low whistle. 'Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley must be at Malfoy Manor!' the youthful looking Metamorphmagus deduced neatly. 'And Harry and Draco Malfoy must be going there.'

'Then Malfoy Manor must be the base of Voldemort's activities,' Remus Lupin nodded quietly. 'We've found this mysterious hiding place then, Severus.'

Ginny glanced at Jem, looking for explanations.

'Severus is working undercover, and all his Death-Eater meetings have been at a location he could not pinpoint, since Death-Eaters Apparate instantly, and Voldemort does seem a little suspicious of him. Now we know where Voldemort's hideout is,' Jem explained to Ginny, Fred and George, seeing their curiosity. 'That's very important.'

Sirius made a noise of impatience. 'What are we waiting for then?' the black-haired man demanded. 'Let's go trash the place and get Harry and his friends out of there.'

His concern sounded very convincing, and Ginny, looking at Sirius' slightly gaunt pale face found herself trusting this man who she had been brought up to believe as a cruel, murderous wizard.

'Or better yet, can't we go and kill Voldemort while we're at it?' a witch of the Order challenged. Dumbledore had introduced her earlier as Artemis Pierce, and she was a tall, somewhat intimidating woman in her thirties, with short, black cropped hair, and flashing eyes that were a peculiarly golden shade. Her face was strangely angular, with a long, sharply pointed nose, and clearly defined cheekbones. Dressed in plain black, with black pants and shirt covered with a black cloak, the most startling thing about her was the longbow and quiver of arrows slung across her back made of ebony black, satiny-smooth wood.

'_Always _look before you leap, Sirius, Arti,' Dumbledore said, chuckling a little. 'We need to confirm firstly that Malfoy Manor _is_ Voldemort's hideout,' he explained mildly. 'Solomon?'

He turned to an old man with thick glasses, dressed in old dark blue robes, who sat in a polished wooden wheelchair that he had moved with a tap of his wand. Solomon Wyse had a friendly face, and balding head, and had been introduced to the Weasleys as the Head Librarian at the Flamel Library of USAM (University of Sorcery and Advanced Magick.)

Solomon sat, lips pursed slightly in thought, as he searched his mind. 'The two places do correspond,' he said thoughtfully. 'Severus, you described the room you were in as being surprisingly elegant. Varnished cedar furniture, thick, dark green velvet curtains, rich carpets, marble mantelpieces on the fireplace – it all fits in with the written records of the furnishings of Malfoy Manor,' Solomon said, his tenor voice crackling with age.

Ginny looked at the old man, impressed. It was like as though Solomon had a library in his head.

'S'at enuff confirmation for you, Dumbledore?' Mundungus Fletcher asked. He was a short man, with long, straggly ginger hair and bandy legs. Bloodshot, baggy eyes looked curiously at the Headmaster, as he sat, slouched in his seat, emitting a definitely stale odour, quite different to the other, more clean-cut members of the Order.

Dumbledore sighed. 'I think it is likely. We don't really have the solid evidence, but that is all we have to go on.'

'So,' the soft, cultured voice of the man sitting on Dumbledore's right hand side spoke up. 'We have the situation. Voldemort and his allies have kidnapped Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, friends of Harry Potter. Presumably, they have been taken to the home of Lucius Malfoy – Malfoy Manor. Voldemort now sits, waiting for Harry Potter, having set the bait. Harry Potter has left Hogwarts, in the company of Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius, and is now probably at Malfoy Manor, about to be taken captive by Voldemort.'

'You summed it up quite nicely, Nicolas,' Arabella said admiringly.

'Thank you, Arabella,' Nicolas Flamel said, smiling slightly. He sat, back completely straight, and his amber-brown eyes flitted over the faces of the others at the table. He looked well-preserved, like a man in his mid-forties. Who would have guessed he was six hundred plus years?

'We have to let Arthur Weasley know his kid's involved. We need those official people in the Ministry to see Lucius Malfoy's deceit and treachery to the wizarding community, so that we can finally lock him up when we get him,' Alastor Moody growled.

The others nodded in agreement. Get the Ministry involved too.

'The real question though, is what Draco Malfoy is doing,' Solomon said, frowning. There were nods of assent around the table. 'If he were helping Harry, it would set our minds at ease considerably. But if he has malicious intents, then Harry will be in big trouble.'

Ginny shuddered.

'Whatever this Draco kid's plans, we have to do something about this,' Jem said, looking at the others. 'We can't just leave them like that.'

Artemis nodded. 'They have had remarkable luck in the past, but Voldemort is cruel and more powerful than they.'

'I don't trust Draco Malfoy,' Professor McGonagall said flatly. Alastor Moody, Filius Flitwick, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black nodded in agreement. They had met Draco Malfoy before.

'Do not be so hasty in your judgement,' Dumbledore said neutrally, half reprimanding those who had agreed with Professor McGonagall. There was a slight tension in the room, broken by Arabella Figg.

'Well, we'd better get started,' Arabella said briskly. 'It doesn't help if we just sit here talking.'

Dumbledore nodded gravely. 'Let us think up a plan of action,' he suggested.

In half an hour, the Order of Phoenix had finished hammering out their plans, and Fawkes crooned softly from behind Dumbledore, as they began moving out of their seats to get ready.

Fred and George made a beeline for Sirius, and Ginny, groaning, followed them, worried about what idiocies may blurt out from their mouths.

'You're Sirius Black, right?' George said, voice demanding.

Sirius shrugged. 'I've been told that many times, so I believe so, yes.' He tried to look casual, but was also uncomfortable, faced with their suspicious, youthful faces.

But the twins' faces broke into identical grins. 'Congratulations, sir,' Fred said enthusiastically.

'Your detention record still stands unsurpassed at one hundred and three,' George said animatedly.

'I don't suppose you'd like to give us a few tips?' Fred suggested slyly.

Sirius stared at them, momentarily bewildered, then threw his head back and laughed, his face suddenly looking much younger, and quite handsome. The laughter was pleasant, and the Weasleys joined in shortly, while Snape scowled at them from his position, talking with Mundungus Fletcher. 'I haven't thought about my detentions in a long time,' he admitted.

Remus, who had been standing near them, talking seriously to Artemis, rolled his eyes. 'Don't give them any ideas, Padfoot,' he warned. 'They're trouble enough.'

'Padfoot?' George asked, his eyes wide. 'Are you _the_ Padfoot?'

'One of the makers of the, the – you know what that has told us about all the secret passages in the school?' Fred added.

Sirius grinned, eyes knowing. 'The Marauder's Map?' He nodded. 'Guilty.'

'But it's genius!' Fred said, marvelling.

Sirius shrugged. 'He helped,' he pointed at Remus, who sighed.

'My credulity ruined,' Remus said wryly. 'Thanks a lot, Sirius.'

'Professor Lupin?' George sounded incredulous.

'Moony,' Sirius explained.

'Wow,' Fred said, grinning broadly. 'I believe, George, we've fallen in with important folk!'

Sirius and Remus chuckled then, as the Order headed towards the doors of the study. Dumbledore stopped them just before they left.

'Is it understood then, what you are to do?' Dumbledore asked them, one hand stroking Fawkes' brilliant feathers.

The Order nodded.

'Then let us begin.'

***

Hermione frowned, beads of perspiration standing up on her forehead. Their attempt to escape wasn't working so far.

Ron and herself had spent a fair while trying their utmost best to produce tears, collecting them in the palm of their hands and quickly trying to spread them all over the iron bar, and letting them absorb. It was slow work gathering tears: they yawned, tried to think of sad and gloomy stories, and kicked themselves to cause pain, just so that the tears would come. However, the tears that did come were minimal, and many of them were lost as they trickled across their faces, spreading out, and refusing to be collected.

Now, Hermione was holding her copper coin onto the weakest point of the iron bar, and tried to bring some heat to the point of contact. She could not simply create flames – that was too difficult, and probably impossible, in the spelled cell. However, she was trying with all her effort to reach out and nudge the blue-green flame of the torch in the dank corridor outside, closer. It was difficult, and so far, the best she had managed had been to make the torch flare up, but not fly through the air towards the rusting iron as she had hoped.

Ron wasn't very helpful, slumped against the cell wall, having given up long ago.

'It's not working,' Ron said again, his eyes half-shut and drooping closed, as he dozed a little.

'I'm trying,' Hermione said, lips thin. It was rather annoying, having Ron so convinced they wouldn't get out, but they had been trying for about six hours, and Hermione also felt almost ready to give up. Her far-fetched idea wasn't really functioning.

'I need help,' Hermione muttered. Damn the stupid spells in this prison that made even spontaneous magic virtually impossible.

She leant back against the wall, tired from standing up and pushing herself to get the flame to move. Her hand still holding the copper coin to the rusting iron bar though, her finger locked into position. Hermione sighed, using her other hand to wipe away the sweat, and then, for some peculiar reason, felt herself fingering the chain at her neck.

Draco's Christmas gift.

It hadn't been removed from her – all their captors had done had been to prudently take away their wands – and Hermione pulled out the ring at the end, inspecting it. The ring, and the twisting strands of peculiar metal around it had not deformed in anyway, and although her hands were grimy, no dirt was left on the luminous, flawless beauty of the necklace and ring. In short, it was as perfect as it had been on that wintry day Draco had given it to her. She puzzled again at the gift. It was unique, to say the least, and although Draco had claimed that it had not been charmed or cursed in anyway, she still felt that there was something different about it in some way.

Hermione sighed again. The ring's very presence gave her mixed feelings. Draco had seemed to have changed when he had given the necklace with the ring on it to her. The gift had been one symbol of that change, or so she had thought. But now? It seemed otherwise, she thought bitterly, merely a trap to capture Harry. _Lying bastard_, she thought, and kicked the door again.

'Stop that, Hermione,' Ron said automatically, opening one eye briefly, before closing it again.

Hermione obeyed, simply because she hadn't the strength to argue. _Don't revert_, she ordered herself firmly, as she felt again the inclination to bash the door.

She let out another long sigh, and held the ring in her hand tightly. It still felt different, she knew, although she had absolutely no idea why. _What are you doing, Draco?_ she wondered in her mind. _What's your agenda?_

Then, without knowing exactly what she did, she moved back towards the stubborn, rusting iron bar, her hand still holding the ring at the end of the chain tightly. She could feel some sort of … energy, that was the best word to describe it, from the ring. Maybe it was meant badly, but maybe she could utilise that energy, she mused, since it came from outside the spelled prison cell. The hand holding the copper coin to the bar increased its grip, and breathing slowly, she _pulled_ at the energy in the ring, harder and harder, and she felt both hands tingling. She could feel the iron bar, its chemical bonds weakening, reforming, changing into rust, and she held the bar tighter and tighter.

It started to crumble, just slightly, and Hermione focused on channelling that energy, awareness of her surrounds and time fading as everything fixed on the iron bar, when suddenly Hermione felt her mind touch another consciousness, another awareness, and she gasped. She let go of the ring and the bar, falling back to the floor as the copper coin jangled loudly on the cold stone.

'Hermione?' Ron exclaimed, worried. Hermione quickly stuffed the ring back into her top, keeping it hidden. There was no need for further explanations.

'I'm fine,' she said quickly, 'just a little tired from the effort.'

Ron nodded, and glanced over at the bar, his eyes widening as he saw its weakened state. 'You did it!' he said jubilantly, and moved over to the bar. Hermione sat up, watching him, as he used his fist, and shook it. The completely rusted bar collapsed.

'Brilliant!' Ron said, awed and thrilled. He reached over, and unbolted the door. 'Bloody brilliant, Hermione!'

'Thank you,' Hermione said, pleased. Inside, though, her mind wondered over and over what on earth she had done. Who was that? However, the door swung open, creaking only slightly, and the two teenagers stepped out into the corridor – to freedom.

***

They had taken one more short break during the afternoon, and Draco had curtly informed Harry that they should reach their destination by evening, a fact that had Harry both overjoyed that their long flight was over, and filled with trepidation with the dangers that lay ahead.

Because of such feelings, Harry did not even feel uncomfortable with the flight, his concern for his two friends overcoming his sore rear end. Besides, the sun had gone down. However, as they flew on, he became increasingly aware of a twinge in his scar, and he touched it tentatively, just a bit.

Flying near Draco though, Harry suddenly heard the pale boy breathe in sharply, and he glanced over, eyes widening. Draco was still flying, yes, but with only one hand on the broom. His face was paler than ever before, and the other hand was clutching at the robes before his heart. His eyes were shut – not a good idea when flying, but by some freak of nature, he still flew straight.

'What is it?' Harry asked, uneasily.

Draco ignored him, or did not hear him, and he sat rigidly on his broomstick, his hand whitening with the force with which he gripped at his robes on his chest. Harry moved closer, ready to shake Draco, when, just as suddenly, Draco gasped, as his eyes opened again, pupils so dilated they almost covered the grey irises. The colour rushed back into his face. He dropped his hand back to his broomstick, and steadied himself even as his body collapsed back into a relaxed, flying position.

'What happened, Malfoy?' Harry asked. Something about the whole business made him feel strangely uncomfortable.

Draco stayed silent for a moment, but then spoke. 'Nothing, Potter,' Draco said, voice dry as ever, obviously hiding something.

'Something happened,' Harry said stubbornly. 'What did you do?'

Draco turned grey eyes that glinted in the silvery light of the rising moon. 'You don't need to know, Potter.'

Harry scowled. He hated it when Draco took on the know-it-all attitude.

Scratching his scar, he turned back around to go forwards again, and gasped, in awed shock. Below them, shining faintly in the silvery moonlight cast by the rising half-moon, was a large mansion of some sort. It looked old, and was built with graceful proportions of a pale stone, although in the darkness, it could seem somewhat menacing in its largeness.

The magnificent house stood proudly amidst extensive gardens, carefully manicured and dotted by occasional statues and fountains. This was then surrounded by what looked like a fairly large natural forest.

The place was stupendously impressive.

Harry's scar stung again.

'Welcome to the Manor,' Draco said, voice deliberately casual. 'Malfoy Manor.'

Author's notes: More new characters! They're a bit more important than Jane, Chloe, Olive etc. I hope you don't mind Jem Codex, Artemis Pearce and Solomon Wyse. I rather like them myself. What do you think of the names? Arti and Sol are a bit obvious, but Jem's name was chosen just because I liked the sound of it. Don't bother looking up Codex in a Latin dictionary. Its meaning ("book", or alternatively, "blockhead" - look, now you can insult people in Latin, although I believe it's actually pronounced "caudex") has _nothing_ to do with Jem's character. I suppose one of his ancestors could be said to have been a bookish type.

Actually, I was wondering about that. Have you ever noticed how _suitable_ the names of some characters are to their characters? _Too _suitable! I mean, one case especially is Remus Lupin. Why would his surname be Latin for wolf? It's not like his parents were werewolves too, and did they "foresee" Remus' future and therefore choose his first name? And Sirius Black! Did _his_ parents say, I know my child's going to be a Animagus in the future who'll turn into a black dog, so I'll name him after the dog star.

Enough rambling from me about my opinions on the Harry-Potter world! Let's hear _your_ opinion! (hint hint, look at review button down the bottom.)

On reviews … I'm absolutely flabbergasted. 7 reviews since I last checked! That's simply amazing, and I'm very flattered!

Cinnamon - Hermione is definitely NOT flawless! I can't stand flawless Hermiones, or flawless female characters full stop. They're so stereotypical and completely unnatural. How can anybody be perfect? Nobody is perfect. Even flawless male characters can be annoying. My deepest apologies, but Dobby's not going to figure any more in this fic (except probably at the end). And here's more Ginny and the Weasley twins, but that's it for now …

Morgan - thanks, I'm glad you're still reading! The action did take a while to get moving, didn't it.

Lady Prongs - you guessed it! (about the Prophecy). It is terribly clichéd though, isn't it, but I can't help it. I love prophecies. Draco does sunburn rather easily (people with his type of skin tend to) but he managed to avoid it up in the air. Don't know how, but he doesn't arrive at the Manor with a bright red face.

kybg - thanks! Double thanks! Your reviews are very encouragingly enthusiastic!!!

Sadilou - thank you! I'm pleased that you like it!

Before I finish off my too-long author notes, I have to say that there is an absolutely brilliant site that's just been put up, and is an absolute saviour for any fanfic writer - the Harry Potter Lexicon (www.hp-lexicon.org) from the Floo Network. It has everything! I love it!!!!


	15. Revenge, sweet revenge

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's. 

Chapter 15 – Revenge, sweet revenge …

Ron sighed. Freedom wasn't all it was hyped up to be.

He and Hermione had been roaming about the dungeons for the last half hour or so, in an attempt to find the way out. Their initially enthusiastic, bouncing, half-running brisk pace was soon slackened by the fact that they only ever encountered locked doors and dead ends. Ron, completely dispirited, lagged behind, while Hermione walked just a bit more rapidly, a few paces ahead of him, still a holding some remnant of eagerness with their "escape," as she called it. In Ron's opinions, a true escape meant getting out of the prison, not just the cell.

'Hurry up, Ron,' Hermione said impatiently, as she walked along.

Ron sighed yet again in response. Why bother? There was no way out. They were stuck. All the corridors in these dungeons looked exactly the same – greyish, damp, moulding stone, with the only source of light provided by fairly regularly spaced torches that flared that really annoying shade of blue-green light, which cast an eerie shadow about them. A shadow which would make Ron jump occasionally, certain that somebody was following them, or some other paranoid fear like that.

Then, Hermione stopped stock still. 'Ron!'

Ron stopped in response. 'What is it?' he asked grumpily, fed up, looking at her rigid form.

'That door! It's opened!' She pointed at the door ahead on the right side, which shows just a slight, open crack in the darkness. Ron's eyes brightened. An unlocked door! The two teenagers virtually raced each other in their desperation to get out through the heavy wooden door.

Less than a minute later, they were out, coming back into the corridor through the same door, with decidedly green faces.

'I didn't even know you could do that to people,' Ron said, voice weak, standing just outside the door.

'That hand, twisted into that shape,' Hermione shuddered, standing next to him, leaning on the wall for support.

'I can't even figure out what some of that equipment does,' Ron added. 'The head tortured out of shape …how?'

'Don't,' Hermione said feebly, her face blanched, and she raised a hand to her mouth suddenly. 'I think I'm going to be sick.'

She threw up.

Ron looked at her, stomach heaving. 'Good idea.' He promptly vomited out the remnants of his prison-cell bread and water cuisine.

After the two regained some measure of composure, they continued walking through the dungeons, faces subdued. Occasionally, they would look through barred windows of locked doors to find items of interest, although, occasionally, if the room smelt funny, Hermione would make Ron look through first to check there was nothing graphically disturbing.

'Look, a potions room,' Hermione pointed at one room they passed by drearily.

Ron looked in through the not-too rusted iron bars, to see tables strewn with potions equipment, cauldrons, and multitudes of ingredients, some of which he could actually recognise, thanks to _1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi_.

'There are an awful lot of poisons,' Hermione sniffed disapprovingly, making a quick inventory of the contents of the potions room.

'Why are all potions rooms in dungeons?' Ron wondered out loud.

'They're not,' Hermione said quickly. 'The potions lab of the famous Potions Wizard Ale Redroot is found in a lovely little chateau in Switzerland, apparently. And the great American Potions Master, Harvard Yale, works in a very sterilised, clean, white science laboratory.'

Ron rolled his eyes. Trust Hermione to know everything. 'Then whoever's' potions lab this is must have gone through Hogwarts,' he deduced. It looked fairly similar to their potions labs in Hogwarts – a place he absolutely loathed, partially due to the teacher who taught the subject.

They continued walking, seeing nothing of real interest, when Hermione suddenly stopped, and grabbed Ron's arm. 'Listen!' she hissed.

Ron stopped moving, and his face whitened with Hermione's as the two escaped prisoners heard the sound of footsteps – one pair rather heavy, the other lighter. Hermione and Ron looked around desperately, and Hermione pulled on Ron's arm, gesturing to the corner, and the two rushed around it. They stood quietly, backs pressed against the cold, clammy wall, hearts thumping loudly, listening as two wizards dressed in black robes with black hoods went past them.

'The Dark Lord's going to have your hide, Macnair, when he finds out you've lost those kids,' one of the Death-Eaters laughed coarsely. 'How hard is it to make sure two _kids_,' he sneered, 'don't escape?'

'Shut your trap, Avery,' Macnair snarled. 'He won't get mad, because I'll find those two kids.'

'You're still an idiot,' Avery said, not very pleasantly. 'The Dark Lord isn't going to be happy at all,' he said, and whistled a tuneless melody rather cheerfully.

'Have you told the others to help?' Macnair grunted.

'Crabbe and Goyle. I didn't think you'd like it if I got that slime Nott to help – he'd go running straight into the arms of the Dark Lord himself,' Avery said, laughing crudely. 'Nott tends to do things like that, you know.'

'Only Crabbe and Goyle?' Macnair sounded disappointed. 'Those two lumps of stone wouldn't be able to find Harry Potter if they were locked into a room with him.'

'You're not exactly intelligence exemplified,' Avery said dryly.

Macnair just grunted again, whether in agreement or not, was unclear.

'I got Parkinson and Uringar to search too. They have bodyguards with them, the pompous gits,' Avery snorted. 'They can help with the search.'

'Good,' Macnair said, his low voice growling. 'If the Dark Lord found out the two kids were missing, he'd be having more than just my hide.'

'Oh, don't worry Walden dear,' Avery said sarcastically. 'I'm aware of that. Why do you think I'm helping you?' He laughed again, a rough sound that grated on Hermione's ears, listening fearfully as she was.

The two passed on, footsteps sounding along until they faded away.

Hermione and Ron turned to each other in the semi-darkness, eyes meeting. _Shit_. Cautiously, they moved out from their hiding position, and began walking again.

'Well at least Voldemort doesn't know we've escaped,' Hermione noted in a low voice, trying to be optimistic.

'Wonderful,' Ron said flatly, not at all excited. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron was so pessimistic sometimes. 'Should we follow them?' she whispered to Ron.

'Why?' Ron asked, also in a whisper, confused.

'They should know a way out,' Hermione pointed out reasonably.

Ron nodded, and the two began creeping along silently in the direction the two Death-Eater's footsteps had gone.

Moments later, they heard yet more footsteps, and ducked away just in time, and glimpsed two large trollish figures who resembled Crabbe and Goyle from school. Their conversation was minimal. It mainly consisted of:

Grunt.

Grunt, grunt.

Grunt.

Grunt.

Grunt, grunt.

The "grunts" did have a variety of inflection though, so it must have meant something to Crabbe and Goyle snrs., but not very much to Hermione and Ron. They left rapidly though, so Hermione and Ron continued on their way.

'I wish we weren't in this mess,' Hermione said longingly. She looked around her at the endless corridors, all of which seemed to show no end. 'Harry will probably come – we'll be too late – and then all hope is gone,' she said, a tinge of gloom in her voice. 'But then again, I wish Harry were here to get us out of this mess. He always does. But I shouldn't want him here,' she added moodily.

Now that Hermione had lost her bouncy enthusiasm, Ron felt somewhat less glum, and sought to comfort her. 'Don't worry,' he said, voice as reassuring as he could possibly make it. His eyes brightened. 'Maybe the reason we haven't found a way out is because they have secret doors!' he suggested, remembering his old adventure comics from younger days.

Hermione glanced at him quizzically. Obviously she'd never read those adventure comics with tales of Martin the Muggle, or Wally the Warlock Apprentice.

'You know, like false walls or trap doors. They could be anywhere!' Ron said enthusiastically. He banged the wall next to him. 'Okay, this one is solid.'

'That's a hopeless idea,' Hermione said. 'We'd never get anywhere if we kept banging on walls. Beside, you probably also need a password, or a spell of some sort to get through. And how could you bang on every single wall?' she demanded, deflating Ron's zeal just slightly.

'What else could we do?' Ron defended his idea. He rather liked the idea of being a comic-book hero like Wally. He continued walking, the process agonisingly slow, as he stopped with every step he took to thump the wall next to him. Hermione watched him, and after a moment of silent contemplation, did the same.

It took them about fifteen minutes to walk fifteen metres, when they reached a fork in the corridors.

'A fork,' Hermione said as she saw the division.

'Which way should we go?' Ron asked looking at that ominous fork.

'Does it make a difference?' Hermione asked cynically. She shrugged, and turned right, and stopped dead.

'Hey!' Death-Eaters robed in black had been walking down the corridor, and had caught sight of them. 'Look! It's the prisoners!'

Hermione glanced at Ron, looks of panic in both their faces. 'Run!' they said simultaneously, and turned to the left fork. Ron sprinted as fast as he could, when he saw a sharp bolt of crimson light strike his leg, and felt a sickening crack in his left leg, causing him to give a cry of pain. It had been broken, and flailing his arms, all the while biting his lip, he fell backwards into the wall. Only, it was no wall, but one of those "secret walls" he had been fantasising about.

'Hermione!' he shouted, exuberant in his discovery.

There was no answer, and he looked through the wall, to see no sign of Hermione. Dragging himself closer, he looked to the right, to see Hermione lying prostrate on the ground in a collapsed heap. Two of the Death-Eaters hauled her unconscious figure up, and carrying her, they walked off in the opposite direction.

'What about the boy?' one of the Death-Eaters asked.

'Leave him,' another, who Ron recognised as Avery from previously, said. 'The important one is the girl. The Weasley spawn can rot in hell for all he cares. He can't get away. Not with his leg broken anyway, so nobody can be warned.'

Ron sank back through the false wall, tears stinging in his eyes, watching his best friend carried off as he lay, unable to help her.

***

Harry and Draco landed just outside massive gates of iron of Malfoy Manor. Harry gazed about in barely hidden awe, trying to ignore the foreboding he felt that came from the continual slight pain that persistently burned in his scar. Malfoy Manor was hugely impressive, after all. Even the gates themselves – thick, unrusted iron, with nastily sharp looking spikes on the end. Where the gates locked together, the iron had been wrought into the form of two intertwined, flowing "M"s.

'Stop gawping, Potter,' Draco said briskly.

Harry wrenched his attention back to Draco. 'How do we get through the gates?' he asked, focusing on the pale-haired boy. He had a feeling a simple unlocking charm probably wouldn't work. Squinting, he judged the distance to get over, and looked at those menacingly sharp pointed ends on the gates … maybe not.

Draco shrugged, and went forward to the lock, placing his hand on the intertwined "M"s. At once, the two Ms slithered, like liquid, untangling themselves, and allowing the gates to open themselves.

'Not bad,' Harry conceded. Draco Malfoy was proving himself useful after all.

'You wouldn't be able to get in otherwise,' Draco said over his shoulder to Harry as they walked through the gates after depositing their precious broomsticks, protected by a charm, underneath some bushes outside the gates. 'Only somebody of Death-Eater blood would be able to open the gates.'

'You're a Death-Eater?' Harry recoiled, voice half-raised in panic.

The pale boy smiled, a curiously sinister curving of the lips in the shady moonlight, and the gates slammed shut, leaving Harry with a sinking feeling in his stomach, just as Draco spoke again. 'No, of course not,' he said crisply. 'But my father is, and I was born after he was inducted. So, technically, I have Death-Eater blood.'

Harry found comfort in those words, and curiously asked. 'How does your mother get in? Or the servants? Are they Death-Eaters?'

'House-elves don't like to leave the Manor in any case, although we do have some human servants. Before a certain somebody moved in, one had to be of Malfoy blood to open the gates, and the servants would see my mother when they wanted to go in and out. The rules have changed somewhat, so recently, mother and the servants have been spending a lot of time on the grounds,' Draco said, voice bland, yet his lips held a bitter twist.

'They're prisoners?' Harry said, horrified.

'Officially, no.'

Harry shook his head, feeling sorry for the servants, and also, oddly, for Narcissa Malfoy. He had met her only once, and she had appeared a cold woman, but surely, being kept prisoner by her husband was something not to be endured. Lost in these thoughts, he walked forwards absently.

'Stop, Potter!' Draco barked.

Harry halted mid-step, turning around at Draco curiously. Draco had reached him, and jerked him back, just as the path ahead where Harry had been about to step became littered with sharp, jagged pieces of broken glass.

'Shit,' Harry breathed, looking at the profusion of glass that could have completely devastated and scarred his feet for life.

'Just in case anybody wanders around in here without Malfoy permission,' Draco said shortly. 'Do _not_ under any case walk away without me here. I know the tricks and traps here, you don't.'

'And you live in this place?' Harry asked, shaking his head. Malfoy Manor was very grand and beautiful, yes, but to live in a place which was a perpetual trap with many dangerous and dark objects? Harry shuddered.

'Better than living with those Muggles you live with,' Draco retorted.

'At least they weren't trying to kill me.'

'I'm not getting killed. It's targeted at unwanted trespassers.'

Harry shook his head, and continued, careful to walk a step or two behind Draco as they passed through the formal, elegant and beautiful gardens with its carefully manicured hedges, flowers, rose bushes and marble statues and fountains … and the odd dangerous trap here and there.

After a few minutes walking in such a manner, Harry suddenly smelt the most beautiful and wonderful fragrance he had ever dreamed of. The scent was gorgeously overpowering, and almost in a kind of daze, he found himself wandering off into the direction of that dazzlingly exquisite aroma.

Draco looked over his shoulder to see now Harry. 'Potter!' he shouted into the darkness. There was no answer, and cursing, he looked around him, to see Harry wandering off, bemusedly, somehow managing to avoid the curses that lay around him.

'_Petrificus totalus!_' Draco cast the spell of Harry, freezing the oblivious boy. Then, he went over to the boy and dragged him back to the path they were on, and a bit further, before releasing him.

'Shit, Draco,' Harry swore.

'You complete idiot, Potter,' Draco said furiously. 'You complete idiot. I thought you were supposed to have remarkable mind control.'

'Why would I need mind control?'

'You were smelling the Flower of Desire,' Draco said, 'which very skilfully, casts something akin to the Imperius curse on the victim. Which you didn't even bother fighting.'

'It was just a nice smell!' Harry protested.

'Can't you even tell?' Draco asked, disgusted. 'It's not very helpful if you're just a dumb hero.'

Stung, Harry didn't bother answering back, but got to his feet, and continued to follow Draco on their path to the Manor, trying his utter best not to breathe through his nose in an attempt not to smell anything else dangerous.

As they walked along, Harry suddenly felt a familiar wash of despair and fear flow through him.

__

'Not Harry!' the cry of a young woman echoed through his mind, and he saw again, the flash of his mother, Lily Potter, holding a baby to her chest, and the fatal green light that appeared with the cruel cold cackle even as his scar screamed in painful agony. And then, he saw again, Cedric Diggory fall to the ground as a green bolt of light struck him. His form was lifeless on the ground. 

He felt a hand grasp his arm tightly.

'Potter!' he heard a faint voice that sounded from afar, and he wrenched himself away from that terrible scene.

Harry blinked.

Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him. 'Dementors, I forgot to warn you,' he said, voice tight. 'When head Weasley banished those things from Azkaban, several of them made their way here to act as guards. They're standing right before the doors to the Manor, and they're posted near all the entrances.'

He pointed to the large front door which could be seen in the distance. Four black robed Dementors stood there, and it took all of Harry's effort not to be influenced from them at that distance. Harry noticed, though, that Draco's face was shining with sweat, and that the pupils of his grey eyes had dilated fearfully so that his eyes looked almost black.

'Let's move right along,' Harry suggested, voice weak.

Draco nodded. 'One of your better ideas,' he said dryly, and continued walking, Harry following him, until they reached what looked to Harry to be a garden shed.

'Why are we here?' he asked Draco.

'There's a secret passage leading from here to the dungeons,' Draco said, looking around the empty shed. 'I didn't think it'd be a good idea to just march into the house, even if we could get past the Dementors. Besides this route is more direct.'

'How can you be sure Hermione and Ron are in the dungeons?' Harry demanded. He was trusting Draco too much.

Draco touched a hand to his chest again in that odd peculiar gesture he kept repeating, and smiled bleakly. 'I know.' He paced around the shed, muttering to himself as he searched for the fancy way in. Then, he smiled triumphantly. 'Aha! Knew I remembered it!'

He had stopped before a segment of the floor which looked like any other patch of floor, with no seams or anything – nothing that could identify it from the rest. It helped Draco though, evidently, as the pale boy felt along the floor, and suddenly, with a bit of effort, pulled up a board to reveal a trap door.

Draco pulled open the crudely fashioned trap door, and stepped down, while Harry stared, fascinated. He looked up from where he stood. 'Coming, Potter?'

Harry hastily moved towards the trap door, and clambered down the trapdoor to find himself in a corridor of stone. The ceiling was very low, and he stood, stooped, feeling like Alice in Wonderland or something along those lines. Draco, meanwhile, pulled the trapdoor shut.

'What about that piece of floor on top?' Harry asked Draco curiously. 'Wouldn't that tell people we'd used the trap door if it weren't replaced.'

Draco gave him a condescending look. 'Of course not,' he said, moving along the corridor, also stooped. 'Magic. The piece of floor will cover the trap door the moment its closed.'

Then, he stopped, and eyed Harry. 'I think it'd be a good idea if we used your Cloak. There are people about, and we don't really want to be seen, do we?'

Harry nodded, and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. He felt uncomfortable standing under it in such close proximity to his old school enemy, but it was unavoidable, so he bore it as best as he could.

The two moved on, the corridor enlarging before long so they could stand upright. Several times, they passed a black robed Death-Eater. Whenever this happened, both Harry and Draco stopped, standing close to the wall, and trying not to breathe. One time, Harry had felt the terrible compulsion to sneeze, but managed to wait with some inhuman effort until after the Death Eater had moved on.

'Do you know where we are going?' Harry asked as they walked through the seemingly never-ending maze. 'I mean, they all look the same, and there are no markings or anything. Are you sure you know?'

'Of course,' Draco sounded offended he even asked.

'Forget it,' Harry muttered, and continued following Draco. 'These dungeons are huge,' Harry remarked after a while.

'Yes,' Draco acknowledged. 'They're basically under the entire House, and much of the surrounding gardens.'

'You have that many people to lock up?'

'Not now. But back in the earlier days of my family, the dungeons came in useful. They were here before the current House was built. This House dates from the eighteenth century, but the dungeons have been here since the middle of the Medieval period.'

'Your family's that old?' Harry gasped.

'Isn't yours?'

Harry pondered this and found he had no idea.

'Is my family old?' he asked presently.

'I would think so,' Draco said absently, looking around. 'I hope you'll excuse me for never having researched Potter family history, so I wouldn't really know for sure.'

He turned another corner purposefully, when Harry heard the slight moaning sound of somebody in pain and trying hard not to show it. 'Somebody's hurt,' he hissed to Draco.

'Very sad,' Draco said, walking on.

'What if it's them?' Harry asked, unwilling to budge.

'Hermione's not there,' Draco said curtly. 'Let's go.'

'But somebody else is hurt,' Harry insisted.

Draco was forced to stop, or else the Invisibility Cloak would slip off him. 'Where did the noise come from?' he asked brusquely.

'There,' Harry pointed. 'But that's solid wall …'

Draco ignored him. 'One of the false walls,' he said, nodding. 'You can go right through it, but it leads to nothing.'

Harry pushed through the false wall, and found Ron lying with his leg broken, in a small room that looked like it had been used for storage. It was fairly dark, but a dim light enabled him to see his pale looking friend. Ron, not seeing Harry with the Invisibility Cloak, was shifting his leg in pain, even as he spoke, to Harry's incredulity.

'Ginseng. This root, that has been said to take the shape of a man, has many healing properties…' Ron's voice trailed off as Harry pulled of the Invisibility Cloak. 'Harry?' his voice nearly squeaked, so glad he was to see his friend.

'It's me,' Harry said, grinning. 'What happened to your leg?'

'Broken by those blasted Death-Eaters,' Ron said, face white as his leg continued to hurt. Then, his eyes looked behind Harry to Draco, who had just walked in through the false wall.

'You!' Ron gasped.

'Where's Hermione?' Draco demanded. 'How did you lose her, Weasley?'

'You, you, hell-hole bastard!' Ron spluttered. And with some sort of superhuman strength, considering his injuries, managed to punch Draco in the stomach.

'What are you doing?' Harry asked, alarmed, as Draco wheezed, doubled over.

'Harry, you idiot! That bastard's trying to kill us. It's all a trap!' Ron said, glaring daggers at Draco. If his leg hadn't been broken, the pale blond boy would probably be dead already. 'He betrayed Hermione!'

Harry acted quickly, and had taken Draco's wand in an instant, and chucked it to Ron. Now, Draco was pressed against the wall, with two wands pointed at him menacingly.

'Tell us why you betrayed Hermione,' Harry said, voice chillingly quiet, face pale with fury.

'Or we will personally make sure that you will never ever again walk, or talk, or see, or hear, or do anything worth doing ever again,' Ron finished, face angrily set.

__

Revenge, sweet revenge …

Author's note: Oh dear. It seems like I couldn't control Ron or Harry after all.


	16. Maybe Not

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise is JKR's. Everything you don't recognise is mine!!!!! 

Chapter 16 – Maybe Not

The two wands pointed unwaveringly at an unruffled Draco Malfoy, who, rather than visibly quaking with fear at the sight of two potentially dangerous wands directed at him, rolled his eyes in a gesture that clearly told Harry and Ron – _immature Gryffindor idiots_. Inside, though, Draco was divided into several different feelings about the encumbering situation. A quick mental analysis showed the following results:

3/16 impatience (They had to rescue Hermione, and here they were, ganging up on _each other?_)

1/2 concern and worry (What the hell had happened to make Hermione so upset at him? Upset enough to tell Weasley too!)

1/4 nagging ache (That Hermione had somehow found out about Draco's darker secrets.)

1/16 just a teensy-weensy bit of fear (After all, who knew what two angry adolescents could do with their wands when out of control?)

'Well, explain, Malfoy,' Harry said, his voice coldly determined, green eyes glittering. Harry was just a bit disappointed. Malfoy had actually turned out to be a decent travelling partner – he had known what to do, and seemed to show a real concern for Hermione. The fact that this concern might have been feigned made Harry somewhat disillusioned and frustrated with Malfoy, and the world in general.

'And hurry up,' Ron added shortly.

'Would you explain to me why Hermione thinks I have betrayed her?' Draco demanded coolly.

'Surely you know,' Ron scoffed.

'Humour me,' Draco said with a humourless smile.

'The photo,' Ron said, and began explaining further, but it was enough.

The first two words he spoke had already made any remaining colour in Draco's already pale face drain away completely, and he closed his eyes resignedly for a moment, which made both Harry and Ron move their wands just a little closer.

'Speak, Malfoy,' Harry said angrily, having heard Ron's explanation. He was now even more angry with the pale Slytherin.

Draco sighed resignedly. They wouldn't let him go without an explanation, obviously. 'Try and listen reasonably, with a clear and unbiased mind,' he said, eyes opening slowly. 'And think about what I say before pouncing on me and beating me up. We can't take all day at this,' he added briskly, gaining control on the situation.

Seeing that Harry and Ron's attentions were on him, he began as briefly as he could.

'My father and a couple of his friends, who are probably all stalking around this place right now, wanted to go and capture Hermione in the summer. He wanted to get her so that Harry would get all worried and go after her and save her,' Draco said smoothly. 'I joined the team of invaders. There were four of us in total, and I didn't really have much of a choice. My father thought it would be good training.'

'Training for being a Death-Eater?' Ron asked scornfully.

'Yes, Weasley,' Draco said coolly, one brow raised, as if challenging Ron to beat him up then and there. Harry lay a restraining arm on Ron, eyes firmly on Draco. 'Ah, thank you, Potter,' Draco nodded, and continued. 'I went with them, but Hermione wasn't home. They searched everywhere for Hermione, thinking she must have hidden herself somewhere, and completely trashed the place.'

'Did you do the damage to her room?' Harry asked tightly.

Draco nodded. 'I did. I'm not proud of it,' here, Ron snorted in clear disbelief, 'but I did.'

'So why did you keep the photo of her? As a threat?' Harry asked, green eyes intent. 'She was frightened of the fact that she was missing in particular from the picture.'

'If it were a threat, don't you think you would be missing too?' Draco asked, biting his lip as he spoke. _Idiot!_

'So why did you keep it?' Harry insisted.

Draco gave a seemingly careless shrug. 'I picked it up by accident.'

'No, you didn't,' Harry corrected him.

Draco's face was a complete mask now. Still, white and impassive. His grey eyes were like crystals, so hard and cold were they. The face of Harry was a complete contrast, flushed with colour in his angry defence of his best friend, and he watched Draco closely, as the pale boy refused to speak.

Finally, Harry gave in. He could do nothing pursuing that subject – he had a feeling that Draco could be stubborn about it. 'Are you helping Hermione?' he asked quietly.

The concern that flared in Draco's normally emotionless eyes could not have been faked. 'I am,' he said seriously.

'And are you helping us?' Harry asked him earnestly.

Draco nodded. 'I am.'

Harry lowered his wand.

'What are you doing, Harry?' Ron asked, incredulous.

Harry sighed. He was trusting Draco. He believed him. Maybe it was because of his sincere concern for Hermione that would keep him from harming him or Ron. Maybe it was because of Hermione's trust for Draco earlier. Maybe, maybe, maybe … for whatever obscure reason, Harry found himself trusting his school enemy of many years. Something …

'Harry?' Ron continued squawking.

'Let it be,' Harry said firmly. Ron locked eyes with his best friend momentarily, then handed Draco his wand grudgingly. Draco took it gratefully, and regained his composure.

'Where is she?' he repeated to Ron.

'We got separated,' Ron said distractedly, wincing as his leg's pain returned in full force.

'I'd gathered that,' Draco said dryly. 'How?'

'We'd escaped,' Ron explained, 'and we were getting lost down here in the dungeons of wherever we are. Where are we, by the way?' he asked absently.

'My home,' Draco said shortly. 'And?'

'Your home?' Ron's eyes boggled. 'This place is huge.'

'I'm aware of that fact,' Draco said, rolling his eyes impatiently. 'And?'

Ron stopped gaping to continue. 'This bunch of Death-Eaters came running around trying to find us. One of them hurt me in the leg, and so I fell against here and found this hiding place, but Hermione had already been knocked out and captured,' Ron said sombrely. 'But I could hear them talking. It was Hermione they were after, not me. Why?' he questioned.

Draco's face was grim. 'You don't need to know,' he said tersely. He sighed, and touched his hand to his chest again. 'Potter. You take Weasley outside, back through the way we came. Use your cloak. Find some place safe to leave him, okay? Then, come back, and go through the dungeons again. See if you can find Hermione.'

Harry opened his mouth to protest.

'Go,' Draco barked. 'We don't have time. You two imbeciles have wasted enough time already.' He strode towards the false wall.

'Where are you going?' Harry demanded even as Draco left.

'To rescue her.'

'Why can't we help?'

The Malfoy smirk popped up inevitably. 'Because I know what to do,' Draco said promptly. 'And you don't.'

***

Hermione regained her consciousness, to find herself lying in yet another prison cell, which looked pretty similar to the first. Momentarily groggy, she sat up swiftly. _Not again_, she groaned. Except this time she was alone in the cell. She pondered. Maybe that was what Harry had also dreamt about! That she would be lying alone in a cell, looking dead. Again, she felt a sense of satisfaction. She was not dead, although she may have looked it moments before, when lying, knocked out.

Hearing the sounds of footsteps, Hermione quickly slumped down again, trying to look unconscious. She didn't feel like dealing with anybody. Irrationally, she hoped that if she were unconscious again, she wouldn't have to worry any more, but there was no such luck. Although her act of playing knocked out seemed to work, she was picked up, none too carefully, by two wizards dressed in black robes who both smelt like they hadn't taken a bath recently, and lifted out of the cell.

'Careful,' the coarse voice she recognised quickly as Avery instructed as she was bumped along. 'You wouldn't want to get the Dark Lord upset now, would you?'

She was carried just a little more carefully, shifted along a bit, although she shivered a little at the thought that she would be taken to Voldemort.

'I don't see why the Dark Lord wants this girl?' one of the Death-Eaters carrying Hermione snarled.

'What the Dark Lord wants is none of our concern, Javier,' Avery snapped. 'You should know that.

'Shut up,' the other Death-Eater mumbled to Javier, cautioning.

'You shut your gob, Nielsen,' Javier spat out.

Nielsen didn't say anything.

From what Hermione could gather, with her eyes shut as they were, there were certain frictions within the Death Eaters, with a certain hierarchy of sorts. Clearly, Avery was superior to the underlings Javier and Nielsen, a fact that did not please Javier at all.

'She's getting heavier,' Javier muttered as they walked along.

'You're getting weaker,' Avery remarked instead.

Hermione could imagine Javier's scowl. Then, unbidden, a cough rose in her throat, and unable to suppress it, she choked.

'She's awake,' Nielsen exclaimed.

'I know that, you fool,' Avery said impatiently. 'Well, Miss Granger, are you ready?' There was a note of viciousness in his question.

Hermione didn't say anything.

'Come, now, don't pretend to be asleep,' Avery said scornfully. 'We can tell you're awake.'

Hermione did not say a word.

'Be that way, if you please,' Avery said without much concern. 'But you may like to know, little girl, that Voldemort wanted you very badly,' he said, grinning. 'We're bringing you to him now and let me warn you. When Voldemort wants a Muggle piece of scum like yourself that badly, it's not usually a good sign for the Mudblood.'

Hermione shuddered, making Avery laugh crudely.

Before long, the Death-Eaters stopped moving, and Hermione was dumped unceremoniously onto the ground.

'Get up,' Avery ordered bluntly. 'Nobody here's going to treat you any special.'

Hermione opened her eyes and stood up, reluctant to face the bleak world, to find she was in an elegant antechamber, boarded with expensive wood. It was empty, except for a few polished wooden chairs, padded with a luxurious dark green velvet. Yet despite the opulent wealth the room seemed to exude, Hermione could sense an underlying darkness. Maybe it was the flickering of the candles that substituted for light that should normally be provided by the small crystal chandelier. Maybe it was the fact that there were another person in the room aside from Avery, Javier and Nielsen.

'Hermione Granger,' the cold voice of Lucius Malfoy directed itself through the frigid air.

'Lucius Malfoy,' Hermione said, voice dripping with equal, unfeigned distaste.

Lucius Malfoy rapped the wall slightly with his serpent-topped cane. 'Really, you little Mudblood,' he said, his face in a sneer that looked very familiar to Hermione. 'Didn't your parents ever teach you any manners? Refer to your elders courteously. _Mr_ Malfoy,' he rapped the cane lightly, but not without pain, against Hermione's arm.

'Didn't your parents ever teach _you_ manners?' Hermione asked in a flippant manner she knew would annoy Lucius Malfoy. 'Name calling is one of the most childishly rude things one can do,' she said, smiling brightly, calmly ignoring the fact that she had not too long ago extensively spent time calling Lucius' Malfoy's son all manner of creatively vile names.

A flash of irritation crossed the older Malfoy's icy grey eyes. 'Shut your mouth, you filthy little Mudblood,' he spat.

Hermione raised her brow. She could tell where Draco got his behavioural problems from. 'Such language,' she contented herself with saying as imperiously as possible, although inside she did shake a little with apprehensive terror as Malfoy's cane came a little closer. He frowned, but then turned to talk to Avery in muttered tones.

She studied Malfoy snr. He was so similar to Draco – the same grey eyes and the same pale, white-blond hair, although his hair was neater, like some sort of protective shell on his head. His skin was not quite as flawlessly pale as Draco's though, and although his face was sharp and pointed, like Draco's, it was less gentle and more sternly hard. He was taller than his son, but looked less strong, somehow.

It was clear though, to her, that she was in Malfoy's home. He looked too comfortable, and it was all too coincidental, with Draco being involved. Hermione looked around – Malfoy family wealth looked extensive from what she could see.

Avery, with Javier and Nielsen behind him, was talking quietly to Lucius Malfoy. He was a man of medium height, with coarse black hair that was cut short, and blue eyes, sturdily built. Javier was a big man, with very tanned skin, brown eyes and hair, while Nielsen was small and wiry, with thin, mud-coloured hair and watery blue eyes.

They looked pre-occupied with themselves, and Hermione looked at the enticing door through which she had come. It was closed, but did not look to be locked. She sidled closer, all the while glancing at the Death-Eaters, making sure they were not watching her. Maybe she could escape. 

A cutting voice stopped her. 'Don't think of running through the door, my dear,' Lucius Malfoy said, sadistically amused. 'That door will only let you through if you are accompanied by somebody of Death-Eater blood. Which you are not.' 

Hermione froze in her faltering step.

'Keep going, and you would be incinerated by the sudden magical flames that cover the doorway,' Malfoy said, a cruelly derisive look on his face.

Hermione, angry, turned around, and went back over to Lucius Malfoy and the other Death-Eaters. Avery was looking at another door, a door she had not gone through, while Javier and Nielsen were leaning against the wall with resentful looks on their faces.

'Why am I here?' she demanded to Lucius Malfoy.

He smiled nastily. 'You are here, Mudblood, because the Dark Lord wants you here. And I can tell you now,' Malfoy added silkily, 'that when the Dark Lord wants a Mudblood, it is so that he can kill them, so that he can purge the world of its impurities.'

His eyes were alight with fanaticism, and Avery, Javier and Nielsen gave assorted approving grunts in response.

Hermione trembled inside. She had no doubt that Lucius Malfoy's threat was very real. Voldemort killed Muggle-borns. That was a well-known fact. Her insides turned upside down in squeamish fright at the thought. Would it be a quick death with the Killing Curse, like what Voldemort had done to Cedric Diggory? Or a slow death, a slow torture, using some arcane form of magic? _Control yourself_, she scolded herself. _Voldemort won't kill you, not until Harry gets here._

That thought filled her with even more dread, but she put on a brave face, and scoffed at Lucius Malfoy's words. 'If Voldemort really wanted to "purge the world of it impurities,"' she said, mockingly quoting him, 'he would have to start by getting rid of you. And then wiping himself off the face of this earth.'

Lucius Malfoy's face when white with anger. 'Be quiet!' he shouted, furious. 'Know your place.'

'My place?' Hermione cried out. 'My place is no different from your place!'

Malfoy looked murderously ready to dispose of her, when the other door opened, and a short man Hermione had met before walked out. The man had a shining hand of some silvery substance, and he walked out, back hunched in a position of perpetual subservience.

'Our Lord wants the girl inside now,' Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail, announced, looking at Lucius Malfoy, who was glaring at him, rather nervously.

Hermione wondered if this was good or bad. There was no way she wanted to meet Voldemort, but staying outside here with Lucius Malfoy seemed just a little dangerous. However, she had no choice, and Malfoy, with a look of evil delight, pointed, with his cane, for Hermione to go through the door.

'After you,' he said, mock-courteously.

Hermione went in, following Peter Pettigrew, and was in turn, followed by Avery, Lucius Malfoy, Javier and Nielsen. There were other Death-Eaters inside the room she walked into, including one thin-looking Death-Eater with the most obsequious look on his face ever, who she assumed at once was Nott, the Death-Eater Avery was not too fond of.

The room she had been led into was fairly large, and lavishly furnished, with polished wooden boards on the floors and walls. Rich-looking rugs had been thrown onto the floor, and there were several chairs, much like those outside, were scattered about the room, where some of the Death-Eaters sat. Some of the walls were covered with bookshelves, and a fireplace was alive with flame. Again, the chandeliers were not lit, and instead, candles were used, so that again, the room looked menacing.

But the room was not Hermione's main focus of attention. The figure sitting at the large, almost throne-like chair against one of the walls, was.

'Leave us,' the man seated at the chair said.

'But my Lord,' Lucius Malfoy protested. In the presence of his master, he had lost some of the supreme arrogance he had shown earlier.

'Is there any problem, Lucius?' the person asked coolly.

'No, no, my Lord,' Malfoy mumbled.

'And see that you punish Macnair suitably for being so foolish as to let the children escape,' he added callously.

Malfoy nodded vigorously, and then he, and the other Death-Eaters hurriedly left the room, shutting the door behind them, leaving Hermione alone with Lord Voldemort.

Author's notes: Well, well, well … what's Draco going to do to get Hermione out of this?

Very sorry about the lateness of the chapters, but fanfic.net was screwing around. Chapter 14 would've been up at the beginning of the week if fanfiction.net were actually working properly! Anyway, you get three chapters in one go instead, in a last desperate bid to get this all finished before Friday (fat chance). Anyway, next chapter should be up soon … and we get to meet Lord Voldemort himself!!!!!


	17. Voldemort Himself

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Most of this is JKR's. Just a small bit is mine.

Chapter 17 – Voldemort Himself

Hermione stared at the man before her in mute terror. Lord Voldemort himself.

He was frightening to look at, maybe because he looked so much more normal than she had expected. He had a very pale face that looked just slightly familiar in some way, as if she had seen it before, yet at the same time, completely alien to look at. His face held regular, even handsome features that harked back to the days when he had been a "handsome Headboy" as Dumbledore had called him, and now, he looked almost ageless, although his thin lips were close to colourless. Voldemort's hair was dark, and was trimmed neatly, with just slight patches of grey near the temples.

He only vaguely resembled Harry's description of him when he had first risen again from spirit into physical form. Obviously, he had undergone yet more changes since last year, although there was still something about him that reminded her of a snake. The way his unnaturally long fingered hands moved sinuously, perhaps, the way his face looked almost bloodless. His pose was relaxed, languid, with those long-fingered hands resting naturally on the arms of the luxurious chair on which he sat. Like his followers, he wore dark, black robes. Voldemort was a tall man, not heavily built.

Most unnerving of all, though to Hermione, were his eyes. The fact that his dark blue eyes, not very big, nor very small, looked completely sane as they stared at her bemusedly. Not red with lunacy and madness, but completely sane.

'Hermione Granger,' he said, with a slight smile. 'Have a seat, and please don't mind the rudeness of the company that was here,' he gestured with a wave of one of his hands, and a seat flew over beneath Hermione. His voice, directed at her, was shockingly urbane.

Hermione gaped, but closed her mouth at once, stubbornly deciding to neither speak nor sit. She stood, as if he had said nothing, determined not to listen to a word Voldemort said. A flicker of amusement ran through those all too sane blue eyes as he saw through her act of defiance, and Hermione felt a crushing force on her lap. Succumbing, she fell onto the seat helplessly.

'Say "thank you,"' Voldemort said reprovingly as she collapsed down.

Hermione glared at him.

'Well, well, well …stubborn, aren't we. I don't mind,' Voldemort said, smiling chillingly. 'It suits me well.'

Hermione closed her eyes, and turned her head away.

'Why do you think you are here, Hermione?' Voldemort said, as Hermione stared fiercely at a portrait hanging on a wall, of one of the earlier Malfoys, a man who looked surprisingly similar to Draco, who was reading a book in an elegantly studious pose. She didn't like the way Voldemort called her by her first name, and she refused to speak, studying the portrait further.

__

Distract yourself, she ordered herself fiercely, and decided to analyse the painting in an attempt to block out Voldemort's voice. The play of light and colour on the portrait was amazing, and the way the focus of light just happened at the right spot, and how this man resembled Draco, and Lucius Malfoy, so much. The same eyes – grey, and hair colour, it seemed hereditary. The artist was not so skilled though, for the hair looked almost white in the picture, as opposed to the light, almost translucent colour it usually was. What book was it that the figure was reading? She scrutinised the book, could she make out the title –

'Continue in that vein, Hermione, and you will find yourself forced to speak, just as you were forced to sit. Would you like to say everything you know about anything to me?' Voldemort asked, voice dangerously sweet.

Hermione shuddered, jolted efficiently from her attempts to ignore him, and turned back reluctantly. Maybe it would be wiser to speak. Who knows, maybe one day she could tell her grandchildren that she had a conversation with the Darkest Lord of them all, and emerged unscathed, although she found that completely unlikely.

'Well, why do you think you are here?' Voldemort repeated his question, with no air of impatience.

'You captured me to get at Harry, Mr Riddle,' she said, a determined and firm tone of voice employed.

'Ah,' Voldemort said, smiling a little and seeing through her ploy of calling him by his original name. 'Do you really believe that?'

'Of course,' Hermione said. 'What other reason could there be for you to kidnap me?'

Voldemort took a sip from a wine glass that sat near him, and then marvelled the colour of the ruby red wine next to the candlelight. 'There is the possibility that I also captured you for yourself, and not just because of Harry Potter.'

'Impossible,' Hermione said, disbelieving him. 'I have nothing to do with your little fight, except that I am friends of Harry. But then again, maybe you want to kill me, Mr Riddle. I am Muggleborn after all,' she said, then added in an undertone. 'Like yourself.' She could hardly believe she was being so bold, but she felt a sort of "what gives" attitude, and felt fully ready to tell Voldemort exactly what she thought of his hypocritical behaviour.

'I am not about to kill you,' Voldemort said, a faint smile hovering on those colourless thin lips.

'Really?' Hermione said doubtfully. 'I come from a Muggle family, Mr Riddle,' she reminded him, almost tauntingly.

Voldemort stared at his wine glass momentarily lost in thought, then spoke, his voice as completely controlled as it had been previously. 'I am not like my followers, Hermione. I can see skill where it is. As you said, I am born of a Muggle father. I hated him, and his family. But, not all Muggles are fools. Just as not all purebloods are powerful.'

'Are you trying to recruit me?' Hermione asked, incredulous.

'You are the cleverest witch in your entire school. I don't believe anybody has been so dedicatedly intelligent as you since the days of my school days, when I was rather like you. I studied hard, and received very high marks, like the range of marks you get,' Voldemort said, a tinge of reminiscences in his face.

'Don't compare me to you,' Hermione whispered, horrified. 'Besides, weren't Harry's parents clever? They were supposed to be very smart.'

'Yes, of course. James Potter _would _be a very talented youth,' Voldemort said, eyes staring into the air, and not at Hermione. 'But he did not have the same devotion to learning we have. And he was not quite as talented as us, Hermione. He was just lucky, although not for long.' There was a hint of hatefully smug satisfaction at that statement.

'So?' Hermione asked defiantly.

'We are quite similar, Hermione Granger,' Voldemort said, looking at her now, his dark blue eyes terrifyingly direct. 'Both born of foolish Muggle families, but with an understanding far beyond theirs.' He tapped his fingers against the side of the chair. 'I _need _intelligent followers.'

'So you want me to join your side?' Hermione demanded. 'What would Malfoy or Pettigrew say to that?' she asked boldly.

'It matters not what those imbeciles say. _My _word is the law here,' Voldemort said, voice calmly confident.

'_And_ I'm female,' Hermione added. 'I haven't seen a single female Death-Eater,' she pointed out.

'Does that matter? Fly in the face of tradition, Hermione. Wouldn't you like to do that?' he asked her, detached laughter in his voice.

'Of course,' Hermione said sarcastically. 'I'd love to join forces with a crazy insane man who leads a bunch of pure-blooded fanatics who just want to butcher most of the human race.'

'Do you think I'm crazy,' Voldemort said meditatively.

Hermione looked at him warily. 'Not now, you don't look it,' she admitted honestly.

'So would you say I had a reason for what I am doing aside from pure insanity?' Voldemort inquired, voice impassive.

Hermione sighed, forcing herself to psycho-analyse Lord Voldemort. 'Revenge maybe, Mr Riddle?' she suggested after a while. 'Revenge against your Muggle family?'

Voldemort gave a dry laugh. 'That is part of it,' he admitted.

Hermione grinned. 'Maybe it's the Oedipus complex,' she suggested lightly. 'It was your mother who died, after all.'

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. 'Maybe not,' he said, a little amused. 'And I didn't ask for you to find the most obscure reasons possible.'

Hermione shrugged, hiding a smirk. 'So, revenge,' she said again.

'That is not the only motive, Hermione. It was when I was younger, still angry, upset over my mother's death, my solitude. But I learnt to understand.'

'Enlighten me,' Hermione said, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed as she stared slightly insolently at Voldemort.

Voldemort sat still for a moment, before he began speaking. 'You think I want to "butcher most of the human race,"' he quoted Hermione's previous words. 'But have you ever considered how Muggles are slaughtering this world we live in? Muggles are like a disease on this world, Hermione, a virus that multiplies and continues without stopping. They are destroying the world, and they need to be stopped.'

He stopped his spiel, and stood up, using his wand to project an image into the air of the Earth.

'This is what the world looked like before humans started developing their so-called technology.' The globe that hovered was green and lush with life. Close ups featured animals bounding along happily, and humans living simple, but joyful lives. The globe vanished.

'This the world now, what it is like in the times of today.' A new globe appeared, replacing the other, and showed a world less green and more brown, with sprawling cities. Signs of industrialisation abounding.

'If this fatal trend were to be continued, this is what the world would look like.' The last globe he showed in the air featured a blackened Earth, with multitudes of light from cities glowing, grey and brown oceans, and hardly any specks of green left. It was a horrific sight, and Hermione recoiled in revulsion.

'Muggles are keen to develop their so-called wonderful technology. They kill, they damage, they ruin the forests, the water, the lives of creatures, mutating, distorting,' Voldemort's voice sounded aloof as he spoke. 'They think nothing of the consequences of what we do. Everything _we _do is carefully balanced. Wizards live in a symbiotic relationship with the world. _They _feel the need to destroy. It must be stopped.' 

'You want to kill them,' Hermione accused in a half-whisper.

'One must make sacrifices,' Voldemort said blandly, and Hermione stared at him in repulsion. He smiled, a smile without any humour in it. 'I will not exterminate the human race, but I will take care to educate them. In time, if they breed with us, Muggles will no longer exist, and the world will be one with the wizarding kind.'

Hermione stared at him in disbelief, then spoke. 'Your followers don't seem to share your mentality,' she noted to him, eyes suspicious. 'The idea of Muggles breeding with wizards would shock them.'

'An astute observation,' Voldemort commended her. 'My followers have their prejudices, their bigoted opinions. Quite old-fashioned really,' he actually sounded amused, and shrugged. 'I let them continue. They are too foolish to understand the purpose of their actions. And it satisfies my little need for vengeance,' he added, with a small, crafty smile.

'Death-Eaters?' Hermione questioned though. The name was designed to evoke fear, and made them sound like some sort of sinister cult.

'Have you ever thought of what the name means, Hermione?' Voldemort asked, smiling slightly. 'Death Eaters. We are devouring the death that threatens the world.'

'Do your followers really believe that?' Hermione asked doubtfully.

'Of course not. But I chose the name for them,' Voldemort said coolly. 

Hermione sat, stubbornly watching him.

'You don't seem to understand me, Hermione. That fool Dumbledore certainly never did,' Voldemort said scornfully, 'and he sent all his minions to stop me.'

Hermione lifted her chin slightly at Voldemort's derisive treatment of Dumbledore.

'I'm not trying to exterminate the human race. I am trying to save them, and although the means are cruel, they are the only means,' Voldemort said gravely, his dark blue eyes piercingly direct.

'So you're now the Saviour, Mr Riddle?' Hermione said, laughing in his face. 'Many people have that delusion. And they have a name too. Madmen. And you still think you're the Saviour?'

A faint smile flitted onto his cold face. 'Not me,' Voldemort said, actually serious. 'But another.'

Hermione stared.

'Have you ever heard of the Prophecy, Hermione?' Voldemort asked her idly, playing again with his glass of dark red wine.

She shook her head mutely.

'The Prophecy tells of the cleansing of this world, the purification of it. And it will happen. Because of the Golden One …' Voldemort's voice trailed off as he stared pensively into his glass of wine.

'Who?' Hermione whispered, the slight light of fanaticism shining in his eyes frightening her.

'The Golden One. It is foreordained, what I am telling you. The world will be saved, and I will help the Golden One all I can to save it,' Voldemort said, smiling.

Hermione's mind was whirling. A Prophecy? With this mysterious "Golden One"?

'You accept my words, don't you,' Voldemort said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. 'You know what I say is true. That my motives are true. And that everything you were brainwashed into believing by Dumbledore was false. They label us Dark Wizards, evil wizards, who kill Muggles because we are fools. But trust me, Hermione. Not all Dark Wizards are fools. We are doing what we know is right,' he said, his voice certain and sure.

'That is a lie,' Hermione said, but her words sounded weak even to her own ears.

'No, Hermione, it isn't,' Voldemort said, his voice all too clear and resonating in the chamber so that it thundered into Hermione's ears.

'It is a lie!' Hermione cried out desperately, feeling a terrible pressure in her mind. Did it come from herself? Or from him? Or both?

Voldemort sensed Hermione's confusion. 'Will you join with us?' he asked her. 'Join with us and help save the human race,' he even sounded impassioned with his motives. 'You must join us.' The voice grew stronger, and the pressure in Hermione's mind grew stronger.

'No!' Hermione, whose shoulders had become bowed with her thoughts, straightened up with effort. 'No! Your words are lies.'

The pressure increased, and now she knew it came from both sides. That Voldemort was somehow using some mind power to force her into submission, but that also inside, she was fighting to determine the truth. And that the fight was veering dangerously on either side.

'No!' she almost wept in frustration.

'You are alone, Hermione. Choose,' Voldemort said, his voice almost golden in its persuasiveness.

'No! Harry will help me!' she moaned, trying to stop that excruciatingly agonising pressure in her mind. Harry would come and save her, he always did. She was not alone! Never alone! 

'Pity, Hermione,' Voldemort said, voice Arctic-cold once more. 'I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. We will have to take more forceful measures,' he said, with an exaggerated sigh. 'I can't really afford to lose another potential ally.'

With that, he raised his wand. '_Imperio!_'

Hermione felt the pressure on her mind release amazingly, causing pure joy, and she felt herself floating, floating above all fears and worries.

__

Say you will become a Death-Eater …

I will become a Death-Eater …

__

You accept …

I accept …

Almost subconsciously, Hermione felt her mouth begin to open to say those words that felt harmless to say. Just say it, something urged in her mind.

And then, something kicked in. She felt herself falling back into reality, but still shielded by her subconscious. Although she could not hear her surrounding, did not see nor feel anything, she became almost aware again, without any trivialities surrounding her. And the pressure was there again, immensely painful, and she felt the force of the Imperius Curse that Voldemort had thrown at her.

The floating abstractedness had gone, and she struggled to speak. It was difficult, almost like pushing against some invisible barrier, but she thrashed about in her mind, straining, striving to push through that barrier, to let herself speak, to withstand the weight of Voldemort's mind, and to block out that part of her that whispered at her to stop acting like a foolish, naïve girl.

__

Say it … say you will become a Death-Eater …

'I-I …'

__

Say it …

'I,' her mouth fought to form the vowels that her mind had not yet decided, 'I …'

__

Say it …

'I won't!' she cried out.

The words rang in her mind. She had done it, and she gazed at Voldemort levelly, brown eyes unwavering. 'I won't.'

His eyes flashed, and for a moment, they were touched with red. 'Really, Hermione?' he said, voice deceptively mild.

And the pressure increased.

It was unbearable, and she could feel her consciousness waver, falter and weaken under that agonising compulsion. It forced itself into her mind, delving into her every thought, finding her every weakness, every single vulnerable spot, and pulling it into bigger masses in her confused mind. That he may be telling the truth, that Voldemort was right, that Dumbledore, Harry and all the others were wrong …

__

I'm going mad, Hermione thought deliriously.

And then it stopped.

Just stopped.

Like that.

She gasped as the pressure fled, as her mind resumed itself.

'What is it, Wormtail?' Voldemort's cold voice snapped.

Hermione's eyes blinked open, and she looked to see Peter Pettigrew standing timidly, agitatedly, at the open doorway.

He muttered something, which she could not hear under the tension of her mind recuperating, while still suffering the aftershocks of that terrible intrusion. Voldemort beckoned to Pettigrew, and he moved over to him, and spoke in a low voice into his ear.

Voldemort looked at Hermione.

'We are not over yet, Hermione,' he purred.

Hermione shut her eyes in fear, as Voldemort and Pettigrew left, and then, left alone in the empty chamber, felt herself black out. Wonderfully, blissfully, mind light and free.

Author's notes: You may notice Voldemort's take on things may sound just a little familiar. Think Agent Smith of _The Matrix_, who compares the human race to a cancerous virus. I must admit I was a little bit influenced by Agent Smith's world view. And yes, Voldemort does seem just a little different to the books, but I refuse to believe that Tom Riddle could be so completely stupid. This is the dude who was Head Boy in his year, and probably got like a million O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. He's had a mixed up childhood, and plenty of time to think.

Has anybody read/heard that clip from AOL or Random House or Amazon? Interesting, just a little bit odd, especially Molly Weasley … I can't wait to read the _Order of the Phoenix_.

Cinnamon - glad you're enthusiastic! Sorry about Draco's non-appearance, but he takes up the whole of the next chapter, which is so hard to write! I keep getting stuck, and keep changing, and think I'm babbling … anyway, enjoy!


	18. Draco's Story

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Some of it's her's, some of it's mine. I'm sure you can tell.

Chapter 18 - Draco's Story

Draco walked confidently alone through the damp, cold stone passages of the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, certain of his route, knowing each path he struck. His father had given him a guided tour of the Manor when he had only been six, and since then, he had spent many long hours in the dungeons. It was a good place to be if the summer heat ever grew unbearable for the dungeons were coolest place in the house, when he wanted to hide from his tutor insisting on him doing more study, when he had to do potions work in the summer holidays, or when playing hide-and-seek with Greg Goyle and Vince Crabbe when he was younger.

Yes, Draco definitely knew his way around the Manor's dungeons. He did not wander around, lost, like Hermione and Ron had done, but moved assuredly, calmly, until he finally reached a patch of bare wall that looked much like any other patch of wall in the monotonous dungeons.

He muttered the password. '_The fall of King Arthur_.'

The wall shimmered, flickered, and disappeared to reveal the polished corridors of his home. There were many ways of out of the Dungeons, but this was by far the fastest way to reach Hermione.

Hermione …

As Draco stepped out onto the clean wooden floors of the dark corridor, the occasional candle casting an eerie light on the portraits of Malfoys from generations past who snoozed lazily, he thought back to that girl.

He knew he often confused her by his behaviour, which confused himself sometimes. She tried to reach out to him, but he shied away so many times, unsure as to what to think. What to believe.

God … life had been, and still was, confusing.

Draco could remember clearly his life as a child. Unfogged, clear as crystal, and happily innocent. His mother loved him very much, always cooing over him, a loving, warm, gentle and beautiful presence in his life. His father was different. Strict and stern, but since Draco had never known any different, he accepted it. In fact, he grew up worshipping his father.

Until he was six, Draco had lived a very sheltered life, and rarely even made contact with other wizards and witches. He spent some time playing games with himself or with his mother or his nanny, and also liked to fly on his toy broomstick, either by himself, or playing catch with the head gardener.

But a lot of his time was spent learning. Draco was a gifted boy, and could not remember ever being unable to read or write, and since he was fluent in both, his father would set him books to read or study. He had a tutor too, whose task it was to teach him languages. His mind was set from the beginning. The books he read, dry dusty tomes, were about the history of his family, and translations of Latin, or French or any other language he was being taught, all had texts about his family history.

And then, when he was six, he was invited by one of his parent's friends – Gareth and Melissa Goyle, to their son's seventh birthday party.

Lucius and Narcissa thought it would be a charming experience for Draco, and Draco wanted to go, curious to find out what other people were like. He had been very excited, but before he left, his father gave him a very long lecture which he remembered well, even though he had yawned through a lot of it.

'Remember, Draco. We are superior to the Goyles,' Lucius Malfoy had said severely, his cane, which he had had forever, sitting on his lap.

'Yes, father,' the small Draco, cherubic in appearance, said innocently, watching the play of light on the silver head of the cane.

'In fact, we are one of the most superior families in Britain,' Lucius Malfoy said gravely. With that, he gestured towards a row of books in the library. 'These texts are full evidence that we have a lineage you must live up to.'

Draco nodded, serious. He knew that. He had read a great deal of those books in his "spare time." His father continued along that line for a while, before finally finishing. 

'Take care to act as befits a superior family,' Lucius Malfoy said in conclusion, before letting his son go to the birthday party.

Draco had arrived at the Goyle home, not nervous but excited, at the prospect of meeting others. There were other children there – Gregory Goyle, the birthday boy, and his best friend, Vincent Crabbe. There was also a boy he remembered, Timothy Nott, and out of the girls, the one who distinctly sat in his memory was a girl who tried her utmost best to attach herself to him, with blond plaits and a pug nose, Pansy Parkinson.

'Who are you?' Greg had said, seeing Draco for the first time, even while he stuffed a pink-iced cupcake into his mouth.

'Yeah, who're you?' Vince said suspiciously, as he eyed a chocolate frog.

Although not experienced with dealing with others, Draco could tell instinctively that they were not being friendly, and he stiffened. 'I'm Draco Malfoy,' he said proudly, remembering his father's words. _You are superior to the others_. 'Who are you?' he asked, imitating his father's disdainful tone of voice.

The other boys had instantly changed their attitude, Draco's arrogant confidence obviously offputting for them.

'Greg,' Greg had introduced himself quickly after swallowing the cupcake.

'Vince,' Vince added, and then began eating his chocolate frog.

'Oh,' Draco said, already beginning, at the age of six, to affect the drawl – like a lazier version of his father's own arrogant voice – that he would use for the rest of his life. 'Happy Birthday, Greg,' he said, with only a hint of an condescending smile on his face, handing Gregory Goyle the birthday present his mother had bought the week before.

Draco saw the others a few times after that. He did not like any of them very much, preferring the company of himself, but they made a change of scene. He did not, and could not, consider them as friends, and vice versa. Greg and Vince were already friends before they met Draco, and as one, they bowed down to his authority. Draco could not stand Timothy Nott, who he saw less often, and Pansy Parkinson could be unbearable, although her flatteries were very nice for his ego. 

No, Draco spent his time at home, reading, and learning magic from his father. When he was eight, he began to get the first hints of his father's darker past.

Draco was returning from a visit to a French aunt of his in Paris with his mother, to find a couple of men running from the Manor, with his father fuming angrily.

'What is it, Lucius?' Narcissa Malfoy asked, worried as she came into the house.

'The fools,' his father seethed. 'They dared, they dared to even set foot inside this place. Put their Muggle-born, tainted blood on this doorstep.'

'Muggle?' Draco inquired, curiously standing in the doorway, hands in the pocket of a new jacket that his mother had bought for him in Paris at a children's boutique she adored.

His father ignored him. 'They dared to, the nerve of them!'

'Why did they come?' Narcissa asked, voice as gentle as she could make it.

Lucius' face darkened. 'They were tipped off. By somebody, a traitor, or somebody careless, I don't know. They claimed they knew about the items I keep in the cupboard behind the second shelf in the library.'

Narcissa's face went white. 'You still keep them there?' she demanded.

'Of course I keep them there,' Lucius said, scowling. 'We will need them,' he said, smiling tightly, 'when our Master returns.'

Her eyes widened with fear.

'Don't worry, my love,' Lucius said, voice like poisoned honey, a subtlety that the young Draco did not catch. 'The Dark Lord will return,' he said, smiling cruelly one hand touching her pale face.

'Father, what's a Muggle?'

Lucius whirled around. 'What are you still doing here?' he snapped.

Draco stared at his father, hurt. Although his father was stern, he was never angry at Draco, not in this way, with eyes flashing coldly.

'I just wanted to know what a Muggle is,' Draco said, wounded. 'And look. I bought this in Paris,' he showed his father an ornament of the Eiffel Tower.

'You took our son into Muggle France?' Lucius Malfoy demanded of his wife.

Narcissa gave him a level gaze, shifting her chin determinedly. 'The best shops are in Muggle France,' she said coolly, one hand twisting the hem of her jacket.

'Fool of a woman,' Lucius said, contemptuously. 'Can you really think only of clothes, and jewellery and perfume?'

'Isn't that what you married me for?' Narcissa retorted.

'Now that you mention it, yes,' he said, smiling maliciously. He came closer to her, and to all appearances, embraced her. In a low voice, barely audible to the watching boy, he spoke in her ear. 'Isn't that why you married me?'

Draco watched his parents, bewildered. His mother was rigid in his father's arms, her face completely wan, and he listened to her soft response. 'I should never have sold my soul to the devil,' she said, voice low with a note of sadness.

'You're right, you should not have,' her husband said, the smile on his face growing wider. Draco's mother closed her eyes, her face pained, while one hand twisted the dazzling diamond ring on her finger, and Lucius continued relentlessly. 'You are trapped in a reflection of your own making.'

Draco stood, half hidden in the growing shadows, puzzled. 'Mother, father,' he interrupted, looking perplexed. 'Whatever is the matter?'

'Go away, Draco,' his father said shortly.

'But, what's a Muggle?'

'Go away!' Lucius Malfoy thundered.

Draco fled to the dungeons where he moped about for a while, confused, before he decided to go to the library. Surely there he could find out what his father had been going on about. Quietly, he slipped in, unseen by his tutor who was sitting, dozing over a scroll of some sort. Instead of going to the shelf of books he was told to read, he headed off instead to find a thick dictionary.

'_Muggle_,' he frowned, and flipped the pages quickly, to find the entry. '_Humans of non-magical blood. Viewed by many wizards to be inferior, Muggles have been the cause for the restriction and secrecy of the wizarding community. However, at times, wizards and witches are Muggle-born, ie., born with no wizarding parents._'

Draco did not understand why Muggles should make his father so upset. He had seen some Muggles in France when he was with his aunt and uncle and mother. He had asked his mother why those people weren't using magic, and she had just said they were different, and that it was rude to point. He wondered why his father made such a fuss.

He continued his furtive search in the library, and looked for the second shelf his father had been livid about. Finding it, he used his expertise from his time in the dungeons, and running his hands lightly over the shelves, found a small lever, and pulled it. A door opened in the shelf, to reveal a cupboard. Draco's eyes brightened. He had found the cupboard his father was talking about.

Inside, he found many strange and curious objects, that for some reason, he felt wary about touching. There was a strange cloak of some black substance that did not look like cloth but a pool of darkness, and a length of soft rope that was speckled with redness. Also among the many odd items were vials of coloured potions that Draco could not identify, and also an old diary that looked of little interest to him.

Then, his stomach growled, and he left, to seek some dinner.

That night, after dinner, he found his father in his study, writing a letter to the Ministry.

'Father?' Draco asked tentatively.

Lucius Malfoy turned around, his eyes sharp, but not blazingly angry like he had been earlier.

'What is it, Draco?' he asked curtly.

'I was wondering. Why were you so angry about the Muggle-borns?' Draco said, voice innocently inquisitive.

Lucius nodded, as if pleased with the question. 'What do you know about Muggles, Draco?'

'They don't have magical blood,' Draco replied promptly, having read the dictionary entry previously. 'But they can't help that, can they?'

Lucius brushed that aside. 'Muggles are the scum of this earth,' he said calmly. 'Draco, Muggles are beneath us. Their blood is dirty and foul, and they seek only to undermine us. They are stupid beyond belief, and foolish. They know nothing, and do nothing of any good. Look at some of their contraptions. Why do they need their fellytones and pomcuters? They are worthless beings.'

'Why?' Draco asked. He was at the age when "why" was one of the most frequent words to pass his lips.

'Because they are Muggles,' Lucius said, with a note of finality.

From that moment on, Lucius took care to remind Draco of that fact, constantly, although he virtually never saw Muggle-borns. He spent all his time in the Manor, after all, and when he wasn't in the Manor, he would either be at Diagon Alley or another wizard's house. He never visited Paris again.

Then, when Draco was ten, he found out about Voldemort.

The Malfoys were having a dinner party, although, as usual, Draco was not allowed to attend, being too young. His mother looked absolutely beautiful, dressed in robes of emerald velvet, with shimmering diamonds around her swan-like neck. His father, was dressed severely in black dress robes, as ever.

Draco, curious, crept out of his bedroom and found himself sitting at the top of the stairs, watching the guests coming into the Manor.

'Daisy Parkinson! I haven't seen you in a long time!' Narcissa air-kissed the blonde woman with the pug nose.

'Lovely to see you, Narcissa!' Daisy Parkinson said in gushing reply.

'How are you, Gareth?' Draco watched his father greet Greg's father.

'Fine,' Gareth Goyle grunted.

'Is that a new painting? It's so charming,' Ellen Nott flattered.

'Thank you,' Draco's mother said, a little loftily. Lucius didn't like the Notts very much.

They were herded towards the dining room, and Draco slipped down the stairs quietly to stand behind the door, watching the adults. It just so happened that he was positioned behind his father who was talking to a man called Paris Mulciber on one side, and Bran Travers on the other.

'This is a ridiculous situation,' Mulciber burst out in a low voice. 'Living in secrecy, the Ministry breathing on our backs.'

Draco's father gave a cold smile. 'Not mine.'

Mulciber scowled at Lucius, even as Travers spoke, voice calculated, but also very pompous. 'Listen, you idiot, our time will come again. We won't have to conform to their Muggle-loving ways any more.'

__

Our time?

'When?' Mulciber bit out furiously. 'It's been bloody nine years since our master fell.'

__

Our master?

'Remember what our Lord always said, Mulciber,' Lucius said calmly. 'Patience, is one of the greatest virtues one can have.'

'He wasn't very patient when he decided all of a sudden to attack the Potters.'

'You sound rather treacherous like that,' Travers said ponderously.

'Really,' Mulciber questioned sardonically. 'We must help him return. I am sick of a life of secrecy!'

'He will return,' Lucius said calmly. 'There are many ways to do it, and at least one of them will work.'

'Name one,' Mulciber demanded.

'I have one, but I need to wait until my son begins at Hogwarts before I can begin it. Then, we can start ridding the world of the Muggle filth,' Lucius said delicately.

'How old is your son?' Travers inquired.

'Ten. He will be starting next year.'

'Good.'

Draco crept away at that point. Clearly, his family was being downtrodden in some way. All of his father's teachings about the superiority of his family were taking hold, and he furiously wished there were some way to make things better again. He wondered, though, who was this master that his father spoke so reverently of, and decided to ask his father tomorrow.

The next morning, he went to his father's study, and knocked.

'Draco,' Lucius said, nodding, as Draco came in.

'Father,' Draco said in reply. 'Who is our master?'

Lucius looked at Draco sharply, and then, a smile crept onto his features. 'Our master, the greatest wizard of all time.'

'Who is this esteemed wizard?' Draco asked politely.

'Voldemort. He seeks to purify the world of all dirty blood, and we will be able to live free lives as wizards,' Lucius proclaimed. He frowned. 'I did not realise I had not yet mentioned our Lord to you.' He took a piece of parchment, and wrote down the names of some books. 'See that your tutor gets these books out of the library for you to read. You will learn more about our master in this way, for he will return, and we will stand proud and tall once more.'

'Yes, father!' Draco nodded, caught up in his father's speech. He knew what his father meant by pride. Often, when he was in Diagon Alley or some other place, people would bow respectfully at the sight of them. Others, though, would give them looks of disgust, which his father would always return. However, these looks of disgust would end, some day, his father assured him.

Draco went to the library, and spent most of the year reading such titles as _The Greatest Wizard_ by B. Travers or _The Lord of the Wizards_ by A. Wilkes. They were all fairly similar, but Draco read them obediently, the constant reading imprinting the texts, with the ideals his father believed in and had left in Draco since the beginning, drumming themselves into his head. He also read, in some of these books, about the fall of Lord Voldemort by the Potters. Draco felt a certain amount of admiration for Harry Potter although the books were not too fond of him. After all, this kid must be the same age as him, and to be able to kick butt like that! 

On the twenty fourth of July, Draco received a letter by a barn owl. The letter was written on creamy parchment, in a thick envelope, sealed with wax. It was his school letter, which he had been expecting ever since the summer began.

'Mother, my letter,' he handed it over to his mother.

Narcissa smiled. 'From Hogwarts,' she said fondly, but through tears.

'What's the matter?' he asked, puzzled.

'I'll miss you, darling,' she merely said, and hugged him – a rare gesture in the past few years, since Lucius Malfoy frowned on any such coddling.

Lucius Malfoy came to the breakfast table at that moment.

'Father! My Hogwarts letter!' Draco said proudly, handing it over to his father. He knew he would be going to Hogwarts, and had known it for a long time, but now that he actually got the letter, he felt very proud of the fact. He had heard Greg and Vince worrying about not getting in.

Lucius barely glanced at the letter.

'Very nice, Draco,' he said absently. 'Sit down and finish your breakfast. Your tutor wants to leave early today, so you will have to start your studies earlier.'

Draco sat down, subdued, missing the glare his mother sent his implacable father.

'We'll have to go to Diagon Alley to get your school things,' Narcissa said presently, while she drank the juice she always had for breakfast.

'When will we go?' Draco asked, excited.

'Next week,' Lucius Malfoy said firmly. 'I am busy until then.' He stood up then, having finished his breakfast rapidly. 'See me in my study this afternoon when your tutor has left, Draco.'

'Yes father,' Draco said, puzzled. What would his father want to talk about?

He returned to the letters. 'Oh, that's terrible, mother. We can't bring brooms in first year,' he said, disappointed. He liked flying a lot, and had been hoping to gain some measure of acceptance in his new school through his flying skills. Although he never confided in anybody (neither his father nor mother), he wanted to make some friends, sort of like Greg and Vince were friends with each other. He thought it might be fun to play games with somebody a little brighter too.

'Don't worry, Draco. You'll be able to next year,' Narcissa said comfortingly. 'School Quidditch is terribly exciting, cheering on your own House,' she added dreamily, obviously remembering her own school days.

That afternoon, the ten-year old Draco went to his father's study.

'You wanted to see me, father?' he asked from the doorway.

'Ah yes, Draco,' Lucius Malfoy said, nodding to his son from his desk behind the heavy mahogany desk. Draco stood before the desk waiting obediently for his father's words, and waited for his father to finish writing a letter.

'Draco, you will be starting school on the first of September,' his father said.

Draco nodded. 'Yes, father.'

'You will be starting school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which, you will be attending unfortunately because there is no other school available. I am on the board of governors, which is why the school can be tolerable. The Headmaster is a fool of a man, Albus Dumbledore. A Muggle-loving bumbling idiot,' Lucius spat furiously.

'Yes, father,' Draco said.

'Do not be fooled by his smiles,' his father warned.

'I won't, father.'

'Good,' Lucius Malfoy said, satisfied. 'There are four houses in Hogwarts. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor.'

'Yes, father.'

'I went to Slytherin.'

'I expect I would want to go to Slytherin, then.'

'Of course,' Lucius said matter of factly. 'All your ancestors were Slytherins. Your mother was, I was, and your grandparents, and their grandparents and all the Malfoys before then.'

Draco nodded.

'Ravenclaws are clever people, so they can be tolerated. Hufflepuffs are idiots. Good for nothings. But Gryffindors are even worse.'

'Yes, father.'

And so it continued, with Lucius Malfoy giving his son a thorough run-down on what he should, and should not like, about Hogwarts.

When Draco and his parents finally went to Diagon Alley on the 31st of July, he was deposited unceremoniously at Madam Malkin's.

'We'll leave you here, Draco,' his father said perfunctionally. 'We don't have any time to waste, I must return to the Ministry in an hour. Your mother and I will look at all the other business.'

Draco felt disappointed. He had wanted to spend time walking around Diagon Alley, having been shut up in the Manor for so long, but he sighed, and nodded. He knew protesting did no good.

After a while in Madam Malkin's while he had fittings, another boy walked in, who looked the same age as he. Messy hair, green eyes, fairly short. Draco tried talking to him, to sound impressive – he wanted friends, so he used the same tactics he used on Greg and Vince – pointing out what he had, and putting on a superior exterior. The boy didn't look too impressed.

When Draco finally went to King's Cross and boarded the Hogwarts Express, he found out that Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter who had defeated Voldemort, was coming to Hogwarts that year. Draco was excited – to meet the famous boy who he had read about in several of those books sounded very interesting. Yes, he had brought down the Dark Lord, but to do that, he must be powerful. He mused – maybe, when the Dark Lord returned, Harry Potter could join his side. He would be a powerful ally! Whatever, he wanted to meet Harry Potter, and maybe even become friends with this historical figure.

But when he found the Boy-Who-Lived, he found him sitting with a boy, with red-hair and freckles. A Weasley. His father had warned him about them.

'Their father is a useless incapable person who is a disgrace to wizards and the Ministry. He has more children than he could ever hope to feed and clothe. You can tell them quickly. Red hair and freckles. Gryffindors, I can tell you now,' Lucius had said as part of his pre-Hogwarts lecture.

And now Harry Potter, one of the most powerful wizards, wanted to be friends with a Weasley?

He was outraged, and tried to put the famous boy-wizard right. It didn't quite work out, and instead, Potter managed to humiliate Draco _in front_ of a Weasley. A Malfoy humiliated before a Weasley? He began disliking Potter intensely. No wonder the Dark Lord wanted to get rid of _him_.

When he arrived at Hogwarts, he was Sorted into Slytherin – and as a Slytherin, he soon found himself the object of suspicion and dislike from virtually all the other houses. It was not a sensation he liked. Yes, some feared him, but Draco disliked the feeling. Every time he was humiliated before one of those other lowlifes in the school, his face would burn, imagining his father's speeches about the superiority of the Malfoys. He tried to stand tall and proud, to live up to the Malfoy name, to live up to the tradition his forefathers had built up, even as everything crumbled about him – he would lose at Quidditch, while Potter (who got to play in first year because of his scar) won; he would get scolded and reprimanded because of them; he even had to serve detention in first year because of them; his father was dismissed from the board of school governors; Potter got on the Triwizard tournament; he was turned into a _ferret_ by Moody!

He hated it all, and the hate festered in him, so that he longed for the return of Voldemort.

And Voldemort did return, at the end of his fourth year, when Cedric Diggory, a _Hufflepuff_ was killed in the presence of Potter. Dumbledore, the old fool that he was, tried to praise Potter, but Draco refused, silently gloating at the news he had heard. That the Dark Lord had returned.

He went home that summer eagerly, and in a short while, Voldemort himself moved into Malfoy Manor, and Draco's fantasies of family pride disintegrated to dust.

His _father_, the same father who had brought Draco up on ideas of family superiority, on their superiority to Muggles, on how they should never bow down to anybody, on how their family was better, suddenly turned into some subservient creature, who fed off the praise of a pale, serpent-like wizard. The slightest command, and his father would do the bidding of his Dark Lord.

Even commands of – 'I feel hungry,' would be responded to too quickly, 'I'll send somebody to fetch a snack for you, my Lord.'

In short, Draco was disgusted and disillusioned.

The changes in his thoughts were subtle – at first, he refused to believe that this was possible. Maybe his father was just so glad that the Dark Lord had returned, but after a couple of weeks, it became clear, that his father was no master of his own life, but merely a servant, a follower. He rebelled against the thought, but it crept into his mind and insinuated itself so that he would watch his father's actions in disgust.

His mother was upset, he could see, and that made it no better. He couldn't even talk to her, she hid in her chambers, and when he did see her, her face was always white and still, and her eyes would look perpetually blurred with tears.

He began questioning, to his discomfit, the merit in all his father had said. Was he better than the Weasleys? Was he better than Muggles and Muggle-borns?

Along with all that confusion, there was also something about him changing. The whole magical creature business that perplexed Hermione, was just as confusing and bewildering for him, although he didn't let her know that. It had started in the holidays, the strange feeling he had, when he walked past a captive chimera at Macnair's home. Almost as if he could talk to him. He ignored it, but then, in Diagon Alley, he had found that book. It was fascinating, and he studied the brilliant pictures in interest.

Then, school had started, and he had seen Pegasus. He just knew, somehow, that he could go up to Pegasus and communicate with him.

Pegasus had, rather unnervingly, identified him peculiarly.

__

You can speak to me? Pegasus had asked a little nervously. He was a young horse after all, at only a couple of centuries.

__

It seems so, Draco thought back. _Isn't this remarkable._

Y-you are the Golden One! Pegasus said, amazement in his thought.

__

If you say so, Draco said dubiously. _I've never heard of the Golden One_.

__

Well, you are only human, Pegasus said patronisingly.

__

Well thank you, Draco said sardonically.

__

You're welcome, Pegasus replied with equal sarcasm. Then, after a pause, _would you like to fly? I want to stretch my wings_.

Draco blinked. Fly on Pegasus? _Sure_.

It was amazing, and Draco found he could talk with magical beasts. It was unusual, but it must be some extra facet of his own abilities. Many people varied in their abilities – he knew, for example, that Paris Mulciber was a specialist at casting _Imperius_ curses. He also knew that Albus Dumbledore was very strong telepathically, while his own father was very strong at inducing fear.

Many of these special 'niches' appeared in adolescent years, which would be about right, Draco thought. He always meant to look up his abilities, but never got around to it his year.

Draco blinked. He had reached the door he was aiming for. There was nobody guarding it – why would they need to? One after all, needed Death-Eater blood to enter. But Draco technically had Death-Eater blood, having been conceived _after_ his father became a Death-Eater. So, he reached for the door-handle, and pulled, to see a group of a dozen or so Death-Eaters – some from the Inner Circle, some their underlings – all sitting in a crowded throng, muttering, in the antechamber.

'Draco!' Lucius Malfoy gasped.

'Father,' Draco said smoothly, with an assured smirk.

'What are you doing here?' Lucius demanded.

'Wagging classes,' Draco said cheerfully, and shrugged. 'Seriously, I want to talk to Voldemort.'

'Why?' his father challenged, startled.

'He wants to talk to me,' Draco said carelessly. He moved towards the door at the other end of the small chamber, when Peter Pettigrew barred his way.

'Let me tell him first,' Pettigrew said. 'He can get a little impatient if he's interrupted while he's torturing.'

Draco's stomach fell, and his heart thudded painfully, but he nodded calmly. 'Do so, and hurry, Wormtail,' he said contemptuously.

Peter Pettigrew left, and the Death-Eaters stared at the implacable Draco, who refused to say a word.

The door opened again, and Pettigrew stepped through, followed by Voldemort himself.

'Young Draco,' Voldemort said, a smile twisting his thin lips as one hand massaged his head, while he grimaced as if in pain.

'Can we talk privately?' Draco requested.

Voldemort gave a careless shrug. 'If you wish. Leave us,' he ordered the Death-Eaters. The Death-Eaters all gaped, and again, grumbling, left yet another room to leave Voldemort alone.

Draco took a deep breath. 'I want to become a Death-Eater.'

Voldemort looked speculatively at him. 'Good idea, boy,' he said softly. 'We can arrange the initiation rites for next week –'

'No. Right now. You can do the rites straight away,' Draco insisted.

'Draco, I don't think you understand. I am preoccupied at the moment,' Voldemort said severely.

'Finish your little amusements later,' Draco said, trying to look casual by rolling his eyes. 'Put your games aside for now, or else, I might change my mind.'

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. 'Why?' he demanded.

'Does there have to be a reason for everything?' Draco complained boldly. 'To be completely honest, I am sick of listening to that imbecilic headmaster at Hogwarts. I want to do things, and he won't let me. But I'm still an indecisive teenager,' he said innocently. 'I may change my mind quickly,' his voice trailed off, hinting.

He could see Voldemort considering his proposal. Voldemort wanted him, he knew that. He wanted him as much as he wanted Hermione and Harry, but he would think he could just put Hermione aside for now. Besides she was unconscious. 

'I will finish dealing with, my prisoner, later,' Voldemort said finally.

'Good,' Draco said, approvingly, although his heart thumped with fear.

Author's note: I had a terrible time starting this chapter. And I had a terrible time writing it. And looking at it, I think its terribly finished (first draft) but it'll have to do. I needed to get it up quickly. Hopefully, it'll give you an idea about Draco's point of view before we return to the action. And I'll probably re-do it later. It's simply terrible. My apologies.

Anyway, reviews!!! Wow! Keep them coming … :-)

gx-Silver - thank you!

Harlequin - I know he used to be short, but I thought he might have grown by now, because, you know, he had to get new school robes and stuff in bk4.

Lady Prongs - here's the answer to your question. Yeah, Imperius is the best to be subjected to, but it was used specifically for Hermione for a specific reason, which I will disclose at a later date, of course …

VaNeSsA - thanks! I'll try and continue, but it'll be distracting when _Order of the Phoenix _comes out.

Porphyrophobic Grape - you liked Voldie! He'll be touched. I'm just curious, what's with your name?

LilyFlower - I used to be a Ron/Hermione shipper, but I got turned traitorous by some very good D/Hr fics. I still think the books are going to be R/Hr though. (sigh).

Headmaster Cromwell - will try to in the near future! 


	19. Author's Note! OotP!

THE MANOR

Author's note: Well … I've finished _Order of the Phoenix_, so I'd better warn you not to read the rest of this chappie if you don't want it all spoilt for you. This whole chapter is just basically my opinion which I had to voice, and also, how the book will affect my little fanfic!

SPOILERS ALERT KEEP GOING!!! DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU REALLY WANT TO RUIN YOUR _ORDER OF THE PHOENIX_ READING EXPERIENCE!!!!

Keep going. I'm just making sure people don't get the story ruined by mistake …

I am seriously upset about Sirius' death. I can't believe she could do that!!!! I love Sirius, he is my favourite canon character. I was heartbroken when he was killed just like that. I think Snape will end up taking his place as Harry's "father," it's all there: both have been picked on, both are currently a little anti-James and they have those lessons together. JKR's obviously very interested in Snape.

I have to admit I'm very disappointed with JKR's treatment of poor old Draco. Doesn't she realise that she's making her character so very 2D by keeping him Daddy's little boy? Maybe (and I really think this is a very unrealistic wish) she'll make him change, what with all that stuff stressed about the school bonding together - Slytherins.

I'm impressed though, some of my predictions have come through … for example, that the Order of the Phoenix is a resistance group (okay, I got that idea from several other speculation sites). Bill and Fleur (but that's so obvious). But, the fact that I've got Jem Codex, who, I might add, is a Shapeshifter like Tonks, although he's a little less happy about it all. And the whole mind-reading thing is something I'm actually exploring - you haven't witnessed that much of it (think back to Voldemort's little tiff with Hermione). Even the idea of a Prophecy-age-confusion (you'll see that later on in my fic, but I'd already set the idea of that in my fic before I read _Order of the Phoenix_). And my Prophecy's by Trelawney too! Ginny's character is also shaping up the way I'd envisaged her, although a bit pre-maturely. See, I was going to have her get over Harry in her fifth year too, but … anyway, I'm also glad to see Dumbledore's adopted the tactics that my version of Hermione employed, by calling Voldemort by his birth name! :) 

The Lily/James 'hate' relationship had me surprised though. That seemed so fandom to me … actually, at points, it felt like I was reading fanfiction, especially that last fight scene, the DA club, which isn't meant to be complimentary. But one of JKR's best writing points is her ability to do dialects, which I would love to do, but simply can't! Particular ways of speaking create a character so much, look at Mundungus, Tonks etc. Her characters are _usually_ fantastic - the new ones: Luna, Tonks, the Death-Eaters, the Aurors - they're all wonderful (except for Draco, humph, and that terrible woman, Umbridge). I'm wondering if there's a way I can write them into my fic …

Despite JKR's warning that she wasn't going to ignore hormones, I was relieved to find she wasn't going to have lots of snogging going on with the main characters, because that stays with the way I've been writing! 

I think this book's better than Goblet of Fire.

I'm concerned though. I was going to have Narcissa end up with Sirius, but now that'd be a little incestruous wouldn't it. Should I take notice of this or not? Actually, I was thinking of not finishing my little fic, since you're probably all too busy reading, but I figured I might as well, since my Draco's a hell of a lot better than her's. So, expect a new chapter up in the next week or so, after you've all recovered from post-_Order of the Phoenix_ shock. Oh, and feel free to comment about my author's note. It'd be quite interesting, actually.


	20. The Words of Atticus Finch

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Obviously, this comes from JKR's creation, and I believe a lot of stuff is owned by Warner Bros. too.

Author's note: Okay, as you can see, I've finally updated my fic! It took a while, because I was feeling so unmotivated, my head mostly spinning with grief at the death of Sirius, and also with ideas for an _Order of the Phoenix_ related fic, which I may, or may not start. However, one reviewer mentioned how she wouldn't be reading _Order of the Phoenix_ for another eight months since she lived in Estonia, and feeling tremendously sorry for her (that's terrible!) I decided to plough on ahead. So, here it is, my now AU fifth year fic, although I am integrating some elements of OotP into my fic, although, I can tell you now, Sirius will NOT die, and Draco's very very different.

Chapter 19 – The Words of Atticus Finch

'I still can_not_ believe you let Malfoy go,' Ron said in disbelief as Harry and Ron slowly progressed, under the shelter of Harry's Invisibility Cloak through the Malfoy dungeons. For some obscure reason, Harry had a fairly good memory of the route Draco had taken to reach Ron, and now, he followed it out.

Harry rolled his eyes heavenward. This was the sixth time Ron had said that. And, as before, he gave the same answer. 'I told you, I trusted him.'

Ron shook his head, stumbled, and winced with pain, as Harry strengthened his support of his friend. 'I dunno. It's too risky. Look at all he's done in the past. Insulting us, calling Hermione names. He fooled Hermione,' he said, frowning. 'But not any more. Even she sees through it.'

Harry gritted his teeth. He wished Ron would shut up. He was fully aware of the gamble he had taken, but did Ron really have to remind him about it non-stop?

'I'm willing to risk it if it'll save Hermione,' he said shortly.

Ron sighed. 'But will it save her?' he asked softly.

Harry felt his heart thud painfully at the thought that it may not save Hermione. The thought of never seeing her again, of never hearing her voice enthusing about some new books, the thought of never seeing her eyes alight when she ranted on about SPEW … they were terrible thoughts, and again, the dream returned to his mind.

__

Never, he vowed silently.

The corridor narrowed and both boys had to stoop, not an easy task to accomplish since one of them had a broken leg. They reached the spot where Harry believed the trap door was, and tentatively, he poked at the seamless ceiling with his wand.

To his relief, the trapdoor rose, and he straightened thankfully through the trapdoor, enjoying the fresh air that wafted through, although there was a tinge of fear that came from the Dementors.

'It's all clear,' Harry called down to Ron.

'Good,' Ron answered.

With effort, Harry managed to pull Ron up, and the red-haired boy, face white with pain from his leg, sat in the shed.

'I'll leave you now,' Harry said, looking back down at the trapdoor. 'I must get Hermione out,' he said urgently.

Ron nodded, and looked speculatively at Harry for a moment before opening his mouth to speak.

'You know, we broke up,' he said abruptly.

Harry looked shocked, and felt surprise, and something else. Relief? 'Why?'

'I dunno, it wasn't working,' Ron shrugged. 'We're too good friends, and we weren't really feeling romantic towards each other or anything.' He smiled wryly. 'We managed to break up without screaming the house down.'

'So nobody's upset?' Harry asked cautiously.

Ron shook his head, smiling a little. 'I think we're both happier,' he said honestly.

Harry nodded. 'I'd better go and get her.'

'Yeah,' Ron nodded too. 'Tell her I'm fine. I'll sit up here and wait for you lot.'

'Maybe I should leave my Cloak with you,' Harry said uncertainly, worried about leaving Ron on his own, undefended.

Ron snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous,' he said, even though he eyed the silvery material lingeringly. 'You need it more than I do,' he said lightly. 'You and Hermione are more important than I will ever be.'

'That's rubbish.'

'Nonsense.'

'Completely.'

'What am I saying?'

The two boys looked at each other, and laughed, quietly so as not to alert the Dementors.

'Malfoy says nobody uses this shed any more, and he thinks he's the only one who knows about the trapdoor,' Harry said seriously.

'Good,' Ron said, satisfied, and leaning back against the corner of the shed. Harry chucked his black cloak over at him, and Ron hugged it to himself to warm him. 'Good luck, Harry,' he clasped Harry's hand briefly.

Harry nodded soberly. 'You too.' He turned to descend the trapdoor.

'She missed you a lot, you know,' Ron said softly, so softly, Harry wondered as he padded softly down the dungeons to search for Hermione if he had really heard Ron's words.

***

Draco stood warily in the room which Voldemort had taken for himself. He recognised it – it was actually one of the drawing rooms of Malfoy Manor, located right near the centre of the house.

Around him, though, were gathered the Inner Circle Death-Eaters. There were only nine, but they still sat in the room in an all too thick cluster of black-hooded faces, whose eyes he could only just see through the thin slits. He could tell his father straight away –the tall one standing immediately to his right, with cold grey eyes boring into him. Voldemort had summoned them all, and now, he told himself to breathe in and out.

He had known for a long time that he would be dedicating his life to one of darkness. Ever since he had been a little child, he had been reading about Dark magic and wizardry. During his fourth year, he had longed for the Dark Lord to return so that he could become a Death-Eater. But now, the idea made him shudder.

'So, young Draco,' Voldemort's voice, thin and cold, but dripping with honeyed anticipation, 'you wish to join my service.' The "s" sounded like a hiss.

Draco nodded obediently. What else could he do? 'Yes, my Lord.'

He could almost imagine his father's smile of satisfaction at his son's complete subservience. 

'Have a seat,' Voldemort said, waving his wand hand regally, so that a chair flew over to Draco.

He sat at once.

'I will now tell you about the conditions of becoming a Death-Eater,' Voldemort said, sitting up a little straighter on his throne-like chair. He began, intoning in a voice that sounded terribly dry and dustily boring – almost like Professor Binns in History of Magic, and some of his Death-Eaters added the occasional comments. 'As a Death-Eater, your loyalty will be to me …'

Draco sighed imperceptibly, barely even listening, one hand reaching towards his chest.

***

Hermione swam vaguely out of her unconscious state, all the while ruefully realising she was doing this, that is, getting knocked out, quite a lot, and that she had probably lost quite a few brain cells in the process. However, now that she was once again conscious, she found herself, yet again, in another cell. This was getting to become a bad habits of hers, getting stuck in prison cells.

She stared outside the window to her new cell, again identical to the others she had visited so far. She wished she had enough strength, enough power to do it all over again, the process of rusting the cell loose, but that would clearly be impossible. She was too tired, too burnt out from the happenings. Every inch of her was painfully aching, and Hermione sat, a huddled figure, in the corner of her cell as she gazed at the flickering blue-green light outside.

She prayed that Ron was alright, and not dead. Who knew what the Death-Eaters had done to him. But maybe he was safe. Maybe he got away? Somehow, she doubted that. She had the strong feeling that he had been injured – had she heard a cry before she had been knocked out by Avery?

Sighing, Hermione's thoughts returned to her little chat with the Dark Lord himself, Voldemort, and she shivered. Thinking about it made her head hurt, and her mind felt strangely deflated, as if something had been pulling at it tightly, and then let go abruptly. However, it was not only her head that hurt, but somewhere inside, somewhere on a different level, that ached and made her feel completely vanquished.

Trying not to focus on that pain, she thought back to the conversation before Voldemort had assaulted her mind. It had been terrifying beyond belief, to witness Voldemort's belief of his own sanity. Revenge had ravaged him, and his self-confidence and intelligence frightening. The worst thing about it all, though, was the little whisper in her mind that said that maybe Voldemort was right. That humans were killing the earth, and that they had to be stopped.

She felt completely wretched at the idea that all she had believed may be wrong, that Dumbledore was misguided, that Harry was fighting for the wrong side, just as Voldemort suggested.

But what was the deal with the Prophecy? It sounded so … so mumbo-jumboish. So Divination-like. But, Voldemort seemed to believe it so implicitly. If she ever got out of this cell, she would have to ask Dumbledore about it. Even though she didn't believe in Divination, it was possible that this Prophecy was real. After all, hadn't Professor Trelawney actually predicted something accurately once? But then, who was the Golden One? Harry? Was that why Voldemort wanted Harry so much? But he wanted Harry dead!

Hermione sighed. She wished Harry were here, and then instantly flushed guiltily. Of course she didn't want Harry here! Harry must not come here and try to rescue her. Were he to come here, he would die, surely, and that could not possibly be allowed. The Death-Eaters were out to get him. Even though Voldemort claimed he had wanted her, he still wanted Harry. And the Death-Eaters wanted Harry. Maybe for once, Harry's goodness, his obsession with saving his friends, his moral standpoints, would waver. He would die if he were here, he mustn't come.

But all the same, she wished he were here. Harry was so comforting, with his promise of protection, and his wonderful self. Hermione found herself missing him, missing him so fiercely that it hurt. Could it be? No, she pushed that thought out of her mind. She had only just broken up with Ron for heaven's sake.

She sighed again, and held herself closer. Her clothes were damp, and the cold draught that crept in from some unforseen corner chilled her to the bone despite its promising scent of freedom, tantalisingly out of reach.

Hugging herself, she frowned then, as her eyes flickered to the door. Had she heard a sound from outside? There was a definite scuffling footfall. _Great, _she thought gloomily, _company_. The door slowly opened, to show … nobody.

Hermione stifled a scream of fear at the sight of the door opening by itself, just as a person suddenly appeared out of the emptiness, clutching a cloak of silvery, fluid material.

A familiar figure with black messy hair, glasses, brilliant green eyes and a famous scar.

'Harry!' she leapt to her feet. 'You came!'

'Hermione,' she heard his relieved reply, and then before she knew it, she was wrapped in his arms, his lips meeting hers.

The kiss silenced her exclamations, and for a moment, she was in a complete shock, before she closed her eyes dreamily, his arms holding her up, and sank into the sweetness of the kiss. All in all, it was very satisfactory.

As she kissed him, she felt an uncomfortable weight against her chest, but ignored it, and opened her eyes to meet his luminous green ones.

'You came,' she repeated softly, incredibly, feeling the warmth of Harry's body against hers, and the protection his arms about her offered. After the mental onslaught she had received from Voldemort, it was unbelievably comforting.

'Of course,' Harry said, smiling, arms still about her, just slightly awkward. Then, he moved over to the prison cell door. 'This way, I believe,' he held open the cell door, and laughing joyously, Hermione went out, following him.

***

Draco's hand dropped from his chest, where it had rested casually, with the elbow of the same arm propped on the green-velvet arm of the luxurious chair on which he sat, half-sprawled. He sighed – a quiet, melancholy sound, heard by no one as he sat alone, a slight, solitary pale figure surrounded by darkness. It was over. Hermione was safe, she had gone from her cell. She was going – going to her freedom, with Potter and Weasley, and leaving him here all alone.

He felt lonelier than he had ever felt in his whole life. Before, he had not known what it was like to feel lonely, to be without friendly companionship … but now, the thought of being alone, filled him with dread. And being surrounded by black-shrouded Death-Eaters did not count as company. 

It was entirely possible, he realised pensively, trying to keep any emotion from his blank face, that he would never see her again. That particular thought filled him with an emptiness that ached and would not leave. For he was trapped and doomed, so that he could let her walk off free to recontinue her life.

He, Draco Malfoy, was only a few minutes away from becoming a Death-Eater.

There was no way out even if he made his unwillingness and distaste for the idea of becoming a Death-Eater apparent. The reason why Voldemort had agreed to such a sudden, rapid initiation rite was because of a mistake Draco had made, of letting Voldemort know just how powerful he really was. Draco could still remember that day well. It was the day Voldemort had arrived at the Manor.

Draco had been flying his broom lazily over the Manor, trying to think through the sudden realisation that his father's pride might have disappeared down the drain. His father had been out the last week, a complete nervous wreck at the prospect of running around with his wonderful Dark Lord, and he was quite enjoying the solitude, since Mother never bothered him.

Then, without warning, he had suddenly realised there was a curse headed his way, and time slowed, as he had whipped out his wand intuitively, and whispered a few words. The curse hit him – the Petrifying Curse – which would have made him spiral down to earth in a rigid heap, but just as his broom dipped and he looked ready to fall off – a marble-like statue, the curse broke with a vivid flash of turquoise light, and had he resumed his position, turning around at once to find the director of the curse as he landed smoothly.

'Congratulations, young Draco,' Voldemort's voice had said, smoothly dangerous.

'Thank you, I think,' Draco said coolly as he dismounted his Nimbus 2001.

'You are skilled. Very quick. Very powerful,' Voldemort said contemplatively. 'I do not believe I have seen anybody with such ability as yours in reacting to curses. Nor anybody who manages to break _my_ curses with such ease and agility at your age.'

Draco had smiled tightly. 'Thank my father for that,' he said, lumping the praise onto his obsequious creep of a father.

A slight smile had crossed Voldemort's face, a twisted gesture on his cold, almost snake-like face. 'Really.' Time had slowed momentarily, as Draco watched Voldemort's mouth open, as if to speak, and then close deliberately.

Voldemort had moved away and back into the Manor from which he had come, leaving Draco shivering just slightly. 

Draco's thoughts returned to the present, though, and the conclusions drawn from remembering that memory. Voldemort would never let him slip from his grasp.

Glumly, Draco considered what his life as a Death-Eater would be like. His schooling, well, that was clearly over. Voldemort would know of Draco's reluctance the moment he began the arcane initiation rites, which Draco knew involved mind penetration, and would probably keep Draco at his side for at least five or six years before letting him out of his sight, by which time, Draco would probably have been tortured mentally and physically into accepting fully the Dark side. And besides, there was no way in hell that Dumbledore would let a person, branded with the dark mark, into Hogwarts.

He'd probably never fly a broomstick again, nor play the thrilling-rush of Quidditch, searching for that elusive golden Snitch. And as for friends, well, he'd probably still have Crabbe and Goyle for company. They were to become Death-Eaters on their eighteenth birthdays. Friendship with a certain bushy-haired Muggle-born Gryffindor would definitely never happen.

Draco swallowed hard, and bit his lip. There was no way out of this situation. It seemed doomed, but he wanted to live a normal life, outside of the evil constraints of Voldemort, doing his every bidding like his fool of a father.

It was inevitable. He would become a Death-Eater. He had no Potter coming to rescue him like Hermione did. But dammit, he would not go down without a fight!

Hand now resting on his lap, he realised the Voldemort and his Death-Eaters had been speaking while he had been meditating on his thoughts, voices harsh, snivelling or dangerously courteous as they fatuously dedicated their words to a cause that he hadn't really heard. But evidently, they had finished.

Voldemort spoke again. He was sitting on his "throne," with his father, the man he had once thought so proud, standing like a creeping bootlicker at his side. 'So, do you agree, young Mr Malfoy?' Voldemort said softly.

Draco made no pretences at having heard anything. 'Agree with what?' Draco asked, one brow raised in that typical gesture of his.

'Answer the Dark Lord without impertinence!' Lucius Malfoy snapped at his own son. 

Draco gave a mock-courteous incline of his head towards Voldemort. 'I pray thee, o darkest of lords, inform your humblest servant as to what he should be agreeing with,' he said extravagantly, taunting his father, who began to look ready to foam at the mouth.

He did not miss the gleam that appeared in Voldemort's eyes.

'Agree to uphold the traditions of pureblooded wizards!' Lucius Malfoy spluttered, answering for Voldemort. 'That Muggles and Mudbloods are scum!'

'Are they really, father?' Draco queried, still sprawled on his seat. 'Is the world really so black and white for you,' he added, lightly contemptuous. _Black and white …_

Lucius began to really look on the danger of foaming at the mouth, as spit gathered in his rage.

' "Why reasonable people go stark raving mad when anything involving a Negro comes up," ' Draco quoted softly, shaking his head derisively. The words inserted themselves into Draco's mouth naturally, and he quoted effortlessly, with an exactitude few people had. He remembered Christmas Day, spent reading _To Kill a Mockingbird _from cover to cover, and then, over the next few months, constantly going back to it, like some sort of Bible, the words burning themselves into his eyes, imprinting themselves in his memory.

'What did you say?' Avery asked roughly, from where he stood next to Lucius Malfoy.

'Why reasonable wizards go stark raving mad when anything involving a Muggle comes up, is something I don't pretend to understand,' Draco repeated, substituting a few terms with his own, to make the words more relevant.

'I am _not_ stark raving mad!' his father fumed, his white-blond hair going awry in his fury.

Draco raised a brow again, the expression on his face implying anything but.

'Muggles are the scum of the universe!' Lucius Malfoy declared loudly.

'The filth of the world!' Another Death-Eater, Nielsen, joined in enthusiastically.

'Fools!'

'Imbeciles!'

'Idiots!'

'Beneath us!'

'Trash!'

'No ability whatsoever!'

The shouted fragments came from all the Death-Eaters, to create a cacophony of sound that Draco calmly listened to, before he stood up abruptly, and leapt onto his chair. As one, the Death-Eaters drew to a hush at the suddenness of his movements. 

And then, he began speaking again, and for some reason, they quietened at the sound of his youthful voice – no longer drawling in disdainful superiority, but sounding like it had never sounded before. Strong, convinced, and true.

'You gentlemen,' he paused to make sure he had their attentions, 'would go along … on the assumption – the evil assumption – that _all_ Muggles lie, that _all_ Muggles are basically immoral beings,' he said as he quoted, again with insertions of his own. The Death-Eaters stared belligerently at him. 'An assumption one associates with minds of their calibre,' he added, finishing the paragraph from the book.

'But,' he gave them all a hard stare that some of them actually quailed from. 'You know the truth, and the truth is this: some Muggles lie, some Muggles are immoral … black and white, Muggles _and _wizards. But this is a truth that applies to the human race and to no particular race of men,' he continued, finding courage from the book Hermione had given him.

He gazed around at them all, his heart faltering just slightly at the sight of those dark-robed men. One of them twitched just slightly underneath his hood, and Draco directed him with a suspicious glance, but continued, driving his words on at the thought of Atticus Finch boldly ploughing on in the middle of courtroom full of prejudiced men who were set against him. ' "All men are created equal." '

Draco cast his grey eyes about the room once more in a dramatic halt, and then, returned to the ground, and slumped down elegantly onto his chair once more. The sudden spell of silence that had fallen over the Death-Eaters broke abruptly, and they began speaking loudly amongst themselves. Draco's father, though, was glaring at his son, the same grey eyes as Draco colder than ice.

'You fool of a son,' he hissed.

Draco kept a serene look on his face.

'How can you be so foolish?' Lucius Malfoy raged. 'After all the effort I went into bringing you up properly, why are you behaving like some Muggle-loving idiot like Dumbledore? Have you lost your mind, boy? Have you truly gone insane?'

Draco did not bother answering, but just gave regarded his father coolly, completely composed.

'Your mother was a weak-minded fool, and you are no different,' Lucius continued, furiously. 'You have _no idea_. No idea at all what ideas you are entertaining in that empty head of yours. Where you came by these ideas is something I even dread to find out,' he persisted. He snarled. 'What do you have to say for yourself?'

' "I've got to live with myself," ' Draco said quietly, quoting again Atticus Finch.

'Live with yourself? Live with _what _self?' Lucius thundered.

'Silence, Malfoy!' Voldemort ordered, and shocked, Lucius actually disobeyed.

'My Lord, I hope this display of such ignorance,' he had once more become the fawning servant, 'does not disgust you. I assure you, that this show of immaturity does not reflect accurately at all on his upbringing,' he added hastily, half-bowing.

Voldemort waved one hand negligently, and although Lucius Malfoy continued to look as though he were speaking, no sound emitted from his mouth, and after a few more seconds of looking like a human goldfish, he closed his mouth, subdued.

Voldemort turned to Draco, and Draco steeled himself, ready to receive the biggest punishment in his life, when the Dark Lord smiled, a glint of dry satisfaction in his blue eyes. 'I'm glad there's at least one person in here aside from myself with a hint of sanity left in his mind,' he said, voice amused.

Draco's eyes boggled momentarily, as he struggled not to let his jaw drop to the floor at the unexpected comment.

'I like clear-headed people,' Voldemort commented, looking supremely diverted, and smiled, a movement that made him look even more sinister than before.

Author's note (part 2): I can hear the screams. The wails of anguish. The complete anger. What the hell is happening? Draco and Hermione forever!?!?!?

I'm very sorry for this not entirely sudden turn of events. Think reasonably. There has been sufficient evidence in the past few chapters to suggest underlying emotions between Harry and Hermione. Both are in a state of shock. And as for Draco, he's not out of the picture (take comfort in the fact that I am a firm D/Hr shipper). Remember, he and Hermione had been enemies until fairly recently. And Hermione still hates his guts at the moment (regression, sigh), so we need to move back to friendship at least before anything can happen.

Other matters. Draco's whole little speech is all thanks to _To Kill a Mockingbird_, which, if you don't remember, Hermione gave him as a Christmas present. I thought it was rather fitting.

(whimper) No hate mail please! I'm already the least-reviewed author of D/Hr who has written over 70 000 words. Actually, on that note, anybody know any advertising strategies they could suggest?

Thanks to those who did review. It was also very interesting reading your comments on _Order of the Phoenix_: 

Lady Prongs – Moldy Voldy! Love that! Erm, as to the plot, it's a little more vague than that.

gx-Silver – of course he was an innocent child! Okay, let's go into philosophy, with the belief that everybody is a clean slate, with the environment shaping the child's personality. That's what I'm doing with Draco.

porphyrophobic grape – purple used to be my favourite colour, and I used to try and amass as many purple objects (clothes, pens, paper etc.) as possible, but I outgrew that stage.

Cinnamon – Nope. Lucius has no good reason at all, but, back to philosophy, he's been brought up like that. I think Draco would be mightily offended if you told him he had a Gryffindor side.

Meghan – thank you! As you can see, there wasn't a lot of making out, and my making out is about as mild as JKR's fade-to-black scene with Harry and Cho was.

Cooky173 – I'm so sorry! I've done that too many times as well reading good fics, the next day, I'm like a walking zombie. And I'm very very sorry that you've been checking and I haven't updated! Usually, I update a lot more quickly, but I wanted everyone to have a post-OotP breather. So you liked Ginny's friends? Excellent, I'll shove some more of them in, I'm sure they wouldn't mind. How long? I seriously am not quite sure … long (evil laughter!) Actually, this is supposed to be 3 parts. The fifth-year part is almost at the end, it's all basically action and then closing up, but then, I'll hopefully be doing sixth year, and then seventh year … I've got three years anyway, to finish my now-AU fic before the next book comes out.

Airotci – thank you! I'll do my utmost best to keep it up. 

*completely anonymous* – yeah, Ron's brotherliness is quite funny, and Ginny's new onslaught of boyfriends is amusing. I thought the Cho Chang stuff was alright, mostly because JKR made it prettly conclusively over!!!

LilyFlower – I will try to read your fic soon, and I promise I won't flame you! Yeah, Snape wasn't very nice to Lily, was he, but it's to be expected. I mean, Snape (who has been brought up as an anti-Muggle-born) would hate having a Muggle-born stick up for him, let alone a girl. He's just being childish, and his pride has been wounded a fair bit. (sniffles) Sirius! (sobs)

hermione'skillercrookshank – Sirius' death was a shock, for me (not having read any spoilers about who would die)! All through the book, I kept thinking somebody would die, you know, Ron (boggart), Arthur Weasley, Hagrid, McGonagall, Ron again, Hermione etc., and then it turned out to be Sirius! I've been flicking through the books again, and there are plenty of hints that Sirius would be finished off. One in particular, is near the beginning:

__

'But if they do expel me,' said Harry quietly, 'can I come back here and live with you?'

Sirius smiled sadly.

'We'll see.'

That's so sad!

Zoella – I doubt she'd read fanfic, because she would surely be wary of contamination … but the book was good after the loooong wait. 

porphyrophobic grape (again) – I'll look for your fic. I wrote one too – 'His Last Bark,' which you could probably find under my author thingy. I don't think Snape will quite take the place of Sirius, but close, still. Will they make a movie of book 5? Hehe, Ron related to Draco! Bet he'd hate that.

Lady Prongs (again) – okay, no more Narcissa/Sirius. I've been spending ages trying to think of alternatives …anyway, we didn't learn anything about the Potters except that they were both alive, healthy and kicking (so I have to change more of my backstory), that they're not evil bad guys (or Sirius wouldn't move in) and maybe they're not entirely pure-blooded (Sirius didn't say they were related.) I don't think I could stand waiting 3 years again!

Kate – I didn't think Hermione or Ron would die (even though she had those near-death situations that momentarily made me worry), but why Sirius? Sigh. At least Lupin's still alive (he's so sweet!) I think I still prefer _Prisoner of Azkaban_.

Linda - thank you for loving Draco. He'll be flattered to know that. I feel so sorry for you! Not until October?! And I thought waiting that last week for OotP to come out was a long time!


	21. The Decision to Help

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money at all from this fanfic, so there's no reason for anybody to start legally attacking me. It's just an expression of admiration for JKR's fantastic work! 

Chapter 20 – The Decision to Help

Harry and Hermione stood outside the open door to the prison cell where Hermione had been held captive until recently. Hermione was beaming, unable to believe her luck. That she was finally free, and that _Harry _was here. A pinkish flush rose to her cheeks as she gazed at Harry, and she brushed her fingers against her lips momentarily. Although she knew she ought to get moving, she felt she had to say something first about what had just happened.

'Why did you come?' she asked a little shyly. 'It's dangerous, and how did you know to come here exactly without getting stopped?' A touch of her old curiosity had come back to her voice.

'I didn't,' Harry admitted. He steeled himself for the reaction to his next statement. 'I came with Malfoy, Hermione.'

As he had expected, Hermione's brows both shot up, her eyes widened, and a look of disbelief crossed her face at once, removing the dreamy expression that had graced it earlier. 'Are you serious?' she demanded incredulously. 'Are you saying the truth or are you joking?' she added, suspiciously. 'Because it's not very funny, Harry.'

Harry spread his hands to show his sincerity. 'I came with Malfoy,' he repeated, green eyes earnest. 'He told me you were missing, and he showed me the way here. He told me how to find you.'

Hermione stared at him, a look of panic emerging on her face. 'Shit!' she swore abruptly, rather unusual for Hermione in Harry's opinion, who had not been exposed to Hermione's extensive vocabulary earlier. 'We're trapped, Harry,' she said finally. 'How could you be so … so _stupid_?' Hermione asked helplessly for lack of a better word to describe Harry.

Harry shook his head. 'I trust him,' he found himself saying firmly. 'You should too. You were the one who befriended him after all, not me. If I can trust him, you definitely should.'

'Bullshit,' Hermione said scornfully, and drew back, scrutinising Harry. 'Who are you, and what have you done to Harry?'

Harry shook his head at her. 'Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. You know it is me,' he said seriously, directing his clear, vividly green eyes at her, one hand taking her own. Hermione, caught in his look, sighed and nodded. It was Harry before her. Nobody else could look at her quite like that. Nobody who took Polyjuice Potion to look like Harry would be quite Harry.

'So where's Malfoy then?' she asked, still a little dubious. 'If he came with you, why isn't he with you now?'

Harry sighed. 'He went off to find Voldemort, I think,' he said, rubbing his own scar unconsciously as he did so. 'He said he knew where you were, so he told me to go and find safety for Ron –'

'Ron!' Hermione interrupted. 'Is he alright?' she asked anxiously.

'Ron's fine,' Harry assured her. 'A broken leg, but he's in a safe, fairly hidden place. Out of danger.'

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, as Harry continued. 'Malfoy told me to help Ron to the safe place, and then told me to come back and search along the dungeons for you. He seemed quite confident you would be here,' he added.

Hermione's eyes, though, had gone momentarily distant. Draco had gone to find Voldemort earlier? Was he the reason why Voldemort suddenly stopped his vigorous mental invasion of her mind? Was he the cause for Peter Pettigrew's interruption, which drew her back from the brink of snapping into insanity? Was he why she had found herself in a relatively harmless, passive cell instead of Voldemort's chamber? But what could he possibly do to draw Voldemort away from herself? Did he really go to Voldemort just to save _her_? Or to join up with the Dark side to whom his father had pledged his allegiance? Questions and musing thoughts flitted through her mind.

Harry had stopped speaking and was watching Hermione thinking. While she thought, clearly about Malfoy's ambiguous position, his mind turned back to the kiss he and Hermione had shared. It had been so unexpected, yet … not so. He liked Hermione, he realised. Liked her a lot, like nobody else he knew. And Hermione? Did she like him too?

'So you haven't seen him since?' Hermione said hesitantly.

Harry shook his head, jolted from his thoughts. 'I think we should go and rescue him,' he suggested.

'What?' Hermione's voice was definitely shrill at that sudden prospect.

'He helped us, so we should help him back,' Harry argued.

Hermione looked caught in a turmoil of thoughts. 'I don't believe you,' she finally said flatly. 'He's probably safe and snug with his dad and Voldemort and everything, getting initiated to Death-Eater-hood.'

Harry frowned. This situation was definitely unreal – _him_ sticking up from Draco Malfoy yet again, but something made him trust him, he didn't know what. 'I think we should go back to help him,' he said to Hermione, his sense of justice and fairness coming through in him. 'He got you out, we should get him out, otherwise its not right.'

'Unless he's actually just leading us into a trap,' Hermione said darkly.

'He didn't,' Harry protested.

They stared at each other fiercely for a moment, a silent battling of wills, when there was the heavy thud of footsteps … coming their way.

***

The scene would have been comical if it wasn't for the fact that Draco's fate was still imperilled. The sight of the black-robed and hooded Death-Eaters gaping at their Dark Lord would normally have made Draco quite amused. However, the fact that the Dark Lord was smiling rather viciously at Draco, to whom some Death-Eaters threw some dirty looks at, made the situation rather less humourous.

Draco himself was bewildered. Was _Voldemort_ suggesting that he didn't condone the prejudices held by Draco's own father and his group of cronies? The idea was quite shocking, pleasantly so, and Draco wondered what exactly was going on. Voldemort hated Muggleborns, didn't he? He hunted them down and killed them, didn't he?

The scene slowly defrosted, and the still, shocked figures of the Death-Eaters and Draco, released themselves.

'Wh-what did you say?' Draco asked, mentally scolding himself. Really. Get a grip on yourself, he frowned to himself. Malfoys did _not_ stutter.

That twisted smile remained fixed on Voldemort's chalk-white face. 'You think your voice of rebellion, of spirit, will mean you won't become a Death-Eater, don't you, young Draco?' he said. 'You don't want to be a Death-Eater, do you.'

Draco's eyes narrowed. He hated the way Voldemort kept on referring to him condescendingly as "young Draco." 'Maybe,' he said grudgingly, refusing to say too much.

'But,' Voldemort continued, blue eyes level with Draco's own, 'it pleases me even more. I need wits, and brains, something that I happen to find severely lacking with this lot,' he threw his Death-Eaters a scathing look.

They quavered.

'I'm flattered you think I'm intelligent,' Draco said sardonically, still sprawled in his chair, and forcing himself to calm down. The fact that Voldemort might be intelligent himself was worrying. That he might not be completely insane, like he had initially seemed to be. An evil irrational man could be easier to deal with, sometimes, than an evil rational man.

'And strong-willed as well,' Voldemort said, looking from Draco to his father, Lucius. 'You have raised a son worthy of the highest levels of the Dark Arts,' he praised.

Lucius tried to smile, but the incredulity remaining in his eyes made his smile somewhat forced and false.

'But I guess my clever little plan failed, didn't it,' Draco said evenly. 'Maybe I'm _not_ so intelligent.'

'Of course, your plan failed. You may be clever, but not nearly so clever as I am,' Voldemort replied coldly, with no hint of false modesty.

'We'll see,' Draco said in careless reply, managing despite his hammering heart to sound smugly superior. 

'Indeed?' Voldemort again sounded amused, but the light, almost bantering tone of his voice died in a moment. 'What I am curious about, young Draco,' he said, making Draco wince again with the adjective, 'is _why_ you have changed your ideas. Your father said you were most eager to become a Death-Eater,' he said, musing, one long-fingered hand holding up his chin in deep thought. 'Even Severus has always said you were one who would without doubt choose to follow me.'

Draco's eyes widened momentarily in fear, but he forced himself with effort to remain calm and serene. _Don't let him find out about Hermione_. He pleaded with his inner consciousness to remain strong. If Voldemort found out that he had befriended Hermione, and that Hermione had drawn him away from his path, then surely he would want to kill her, even though for some reason, he had wanted her. And if he didn't, then his father surely would.

'_Why_?' Voldemort breathed, and he stared at Draco.

Draco sat, stubbornly silent.

'Tell me, young Draco,' Voldemort's voice was coaxing poison in his ears. 'Because I will find out anyway. I will also find out why you wanted to save that girl,' he added.

Draco's mind worked furiously.

'Tell me …' he hissed.

Draco gasped, he could feel something wrong with his mind. Like as though somebody was sifting through its contents. He struggled to push out that outside presence, but he did not know how, unlike Hermione. Unable to push out the intrusion, he quickly pulled out thoughts to place in the forefront of his mind. The thoughts focused in his mind, and the intrusion swept upon them with an unholy glee.

'Potter!' Voldemort spat, yet exulted in his discovery. 'You are friends with that idiot?'

Draco nodded vigorously, then slowed his head movements, so as not to look so overtly enthusiastic. 'That's why I came to save that girl and boy,' he said. 'Hermione what's-her-name and the Weasel,' he said carelessly. 'Potter's best friends.'

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. 'So you think your _friends_,' he sneered on the word, 'are free now?'

Draco shrugged.

'You thought that I would be so distracted with you that I wouldn't have set up back-up plans? That I would let them slip away?' A tone of gloating had infiltrated Voldemort's voice, and Draco felt his stomach begin to sink away.

A cruel smile spread on Voldemort's face. 'Don't you realise how foolish you are, young Draco?' Voldemort said with the air of a teacher speaking to a misbehaving student. 'Never underestimate me. Your _friends _are being apprehended even as we speak.'

Draco shut his eyes in dread.

***

'Over here! They're over here!' the rough shout of a Death-Eater jarred the air, and a black hooded head poked around the corner.

'You still trust him?' Hermione asked, disbelieving, voice raised slightly in fear at the sound of running footsteps. Her face was white, and obviously worried and fretful.

Harry gritted his teeth. This was not supposed to happen – now Hermione's faith would be completely done with. However, he pulled out his wand and tossed it over to Hermione. 'You use it,' he ordered.

Hermione caught the wand, holding it lightly for a moment to get a feel of it, before she looked at him inquiringly. 'What about you?' she asked, even as she threw an Impediment Jinx at an approaching Death-Eater.

'You're better with a wand than I am,' Harry shouted back, and threw himself physically at the Death-Eaters.

The fighting was very fast, so fast that it was difficult for Hermione to follow it completely with her eyes. She threw spells at the Death-Eaters, barely even registering where the spells hit, or whether they actually hit Death-Eaters. Her sole concern was not to injure Harry in the process. Sometimes, though, she would see a bolt of magic knock down a Death-Eater that did not come from her, but looked like it came from Harry, but pre-occupied as she was, she did not focus too much on it. Maybe the spells were backfiring, or perhaps some Death-Eaters targeted each other by error. It was a confusing mess after all.

Hermione continued fighting, stunning one Death-Eater with a quick '_Stupefy!_' and breaking another Death-Eater's defence with the Jelly-Legs Jinx. The wobbling Death-Eater lost balance, and crashed into the wall, losing consciousness. '_Invertus!_' managed to satisfactorily confuse one Death-Eater, allowing Harry to swiftly punch him in the head. With the Impediment Jinx, Hermione managed to slow, in one quick move, a Death-Eater who was moving ominously towards Harry. And so it continued. Hermione became increasingly glad that she had helped Harry prepare for the final task last year for the Triwizard Tournament, and that she had spent that time in the summer holidays reading those books on the Dark Arts.

'Well,' Hermione said, eyes wide at the sight of the eleven unconscious Death-Eaters lying sprawled on the ground. 'I don't know how we did it,' she admitted. Quickly, she took one of the cloaks and ripped it up so that they could use the pieces of cloth to tie up the Death-Eaters, while Harry deftly de-wanded each Death-Eater. Hermione returned Harry's wand, and inspected the wands Harry offered her, eventually selecting one made of birch, ten inches, with what felt like unicorn hair inside, and tucked the others in her pocket, safely out of the Death-Eaters' reaches should they return to their conscious states.

Harry, breathing hard from the fight, glanced over at the Death Eaters. 'They're not very good, are they,' he noted critically.

'Thank goodness,' Hermione said inspecting the Death-Eaters. 'They're not the Inner Circle, that's for sure,' she said. She looked closely at one of them. 'That's Javier,' she announced, recognising one of her captors. 'He was part of the group who attacked me and Ron earlier. They're not top Death-Eaters, but underlings of the underlings.'

'How many of them are there?' Harry asked, wondering. 'They seem to have some sort of ranking system going on.'

Hermione nodded. 'Probably a fairly complex hierarchy based on their monetary wealth, their closeness to the Dark Lord. There are probably lots of them,' she noted. 'Last year –' 

'Last year when I saw those Death-Eaters,' Harry filled in when her voice faltered.

'They were probably only the Inner Circle ones,' Hermione suggested. 'Like Avery and Lucius Malfoy.'

Harry nodded in agreement. Having regained their breaths and composures after their little fight, he looked over at Hermione. 'We need to rescue Malfoy,' he began again.

Hermione scowled. 'I don't trust him. He betrayed me, Harry. He led us into this mess. Why do you think we escaped so easily? Because they expected this lot to finish us up!' she said with a scornful jerk of her head at the prone Death-Eaters on the floor.

Harry shook his head stubbornly. 'I don't think so,' he insisted. 'You didn't see him, Hermione. He was really shaken up when you were kidnapped like that,' he said, remembering. 'I never thought Draco Malfoy had a heart before, but he was really upset when you were taken.'

Hermione swallowed at Harry's words. Maybe, maybe it was true? She wished it were in her heart. Draco had been a wonderful friend before she had found the photograph on him.

'The photograph?' she asked tentatively.

'He did invade your house, with his father and two of his father's cronies. He confessed to that,' Harry told her. 'But I don't think he's very proud for having done that.'

Hermione frowned. The fact that he did not deny his involvement suggested that he was perhaps changed. She sighed. Harry seemed determined about this, and after having released all her rantings earlier, there didn't seem much of a point in disagreeing with him.

'Look, Harry. If it all screws up and we end up dead, I blame you,' Hermione said squarely. Harry just grinned at her. Hermione sighed. Underneath, she knew that the reason why she agreed with Harry was because some part of her still hoped that Draco was a friend, and that he hadn't just been a false, lying and deceitful Death-Eater.

'Okay, so that's settled,' Harry said, and they began walking. 'I-I just wanted to ask you something before we begin,' he said, his obvious nerves making him walk faster.

Hermione's face went pink again, as she had a strong feeling she knew what subject Harry was about to broach, now that the official business was out of the way.

'Er, Ron said you two had broken up,' Harry said awkwardly. He knew he had to say this, but that didn't stop him from feeling completely embarrassed. He felt like that time in fourth year, when he had tried to ask Cho to the Yule Ball. _Hermione's your friend_, he thought to himself. _You've never had trouble speaking to her before_. Yeah, but he'd never kissed her before either. Why couldn't he just kiss her? That was so much easier – no talking, a simple way of getting his feelings across, he thought angrily, a little frustrated with himself. But he knew he had to speak.

'Yeah,' Hermione said, face completely red, and twisted some of her shirt nervously in her fingers. 'It-it wasn't really working out. Ron was too, too brotherly,' she struggled to put it.

'Am I?' the words were blurted out of his mouth before he realised it, and Harry groaned inwardly. So much for subtlety.

'No!' Hermione exclaimed, and then felt like dying with mortification. She sounded too enthusiastic. 'I mean,' her face was burning, 'I like you, Harry, a lot.'

That sounded so pathetic, Hermione thought crossly to herself, but the words made Harry beam.

'I like you too,' he assured her. The words made Hermione grin, suddenly feeling much more confident.

'Really?' she asked playfully. 

'Yeah,' Harry said, smiling, a feeling of warm relief surging through him.

They had stopped moving, and were just smiling at each other, when a practical thought again crossed Hermione's mind, and she lost her cloud-nine look.

'We can't get into the chamber, Harry,' she said, panicking. 'You need to be with somebody of the blood of a Death-Eater to get past the door.'

Harry grimaced. Back to the real world. 'More obstacles to throw at us,' he observed impatiently. He slumped back against the wall, obviously trying to think of a solution.

Hermione felt discouraged too. After making the decision to help in the rescue of Draco, she felt distinctly disappointed that it would all be overthrown just because of some more stupid spells the Death-Eaters had put up. She stalked back to the Death-Eaters they had captured, and frowned heavily at them. She kicked the offending unconscious Death-Eater (Javier) before her, and then gaped. The answer was so obvious and simple.

'Death-Eater blood,' she whispered, and pointed at Javier.

Harry stared at her, and came running over to also stare at Javier. Realisation dawned on his face, and he looked disgusted. 'You can't seriously mean to take his blood.'

'I do,' Hermione said firmly. 'I don't like him very much.'

'Be serious,' Harry protested.

'I am,' Hermione insisted. 'He won't feel anything, unfortunately,' she added as an afterthought. With her newly stolen wand, she pointed at Javier's arm. '_Hiridunis_,' she whispered, and magically, a vein opened in his arm, and drops of blood spilled out onto a piece of cloth she held out. The cloth soaked in the blood, and then, she spoke again. '_Finite incantem_.' The wound closed seamlessly.

She held out the piece of blood-soaked cloth to Harry and smiled grimly. 'Death-Eater blood.'

***

Draco stared at Lord Voldemort, who was watching him as a cat would watch a canary. Hermione was not safe. She was out of her cell, yes, but soon she would be brought here, trussed up and subjected to the Dark Lord's cruelty. Potter would surely die, unless he still had some of that luck that got him out of the worst situations still with him, but Hermione was surely doomed.

He felt a weight pressing down on him, and sighed, shoulders sagging. It was hopeless in the end. He had failed at playing the hero.

Voldemort though had snapped his fingers. 'We have wasted enough time,' he said crisply. 'We will begin your initiation rites _now_. After all, you wanted them now, didn't you, young Draco?' he asked smoothly.

Draco glowered at him, as Voldemort closed his eyes briefly in concentration. Death-Eaters began appearing in the room, with a slight _pop _as they Apparated into the chamber. The room was getting crowded, but the Death-Eaters continued to enter. The sight was frightening, and with a slight gesture of his wand, the chamber expanded so that it was the size of a small hall. There were at least sixty Death-Eaters, maybe even seventy. Draco knew that was not the entire Death-Eater force, but from his guesses, they would be those members of the Inner Circle not in Azkaban, and also the underlings who were in the Manor at the time, of whom there were many.

All of them prostrated themselves on the ground before their Dark Lord, standing in an intimidating, and oddly perfect ring around Draco – almost like it were a practised formation for some huge theatrical production.

Draco wondered if they went through all this pageantry before every single Death-Eater was initiated, when, as if he had read his thoughts, Voldemort spoke up.

'Be honoured, young Draco,' he said, eyes watching. 'Not all Death-Eaters get such pomp and ceremony when they are initiated, especially not ones of your age.'

Draco raised a brow. 'And I get the _honour_ because?' His words were heavily laden with sarcasm.

'Of who you are,' Voldemort answered, a little mystically.

Draco frowned, and looked away from the Dark Lord to observe the melodramatic surrounding of the Death-Eaters. Eleven Death-Eaters stood slightly more forward than the others, and he could see that they were the Inner Circle Death-Eaters, as his father stood among that more "elite" group.

The Death-Eaters were chanting, murmuring long, complicated Latin incantations along the lines of let the Dark powers rise and help bind this new soul to our worthy pure ideas and that sort of rubbish. Despite the ridiculously pretentious element to the Death-Eater initiation rite that made Draco want to fall about laughing just to see the shocked expressions on their faces (although that wouldn't have really been possible since they were wearing hoods), he found the situation still rather forbidding. 

The chamber had darkened so that it was only lit by candle light, that burned with a greenish cast, and Voldemort himself moved from his "throne" to the centre of the enlarged chamber, where Draco stood.

He snapped his fingers, and a cluster of green flames, the size of a beach-ball, burned brightly between him and Draco, who were facing each other. The green flames reflected on Voldemort's pale face, and again, Draco was reminded forcibly of a snake. 

'Place your hands into the flames,' Voldemort ordered, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality.

Draco stared at the Dark Lord, and shook his head stubbornly, when he found his hands grabbed from behind by one of the Inner Circle Death-Eaters and forced into the green flames. They did not burn, as Draco had suspected, but made his hands tingle, and he almost felt as if his mind were flapping, wide open.

'The blood,' Voldemort intoned.

Another Death-Eater went to Draco, holding a short, gleaming knife. He plunged the knife into a vein in Draco's forearm quickly, as Draco almost yelped with the sudden sharp jab of pain, as a drop of blood was allowed to trickle down Draco's arm into the flames, where they sizzled, before disappearing. The opening in his arm sealed seamlessly and the pain vanished.

Voldemort forced his gaze onto Draco's, who shuddered. The Dark Lord's eyes were no longer the blue they had been before, but instead, were slit-pupilled, with red starting to glow in the irises, in a fiery red rim around the pupils.

'You wish to become a Death-Eater,' Voldemort said, in a voice that didn't sound like it offered any options. 'To become so, you must swear.'

'I must – what?' Draco glared at Voldemort.

'Ah, your strength of spirit remains,' Voldemort said in a patronising tone.

'Isn't that what you wanted?' Draco demanded.

Voldemort chuckled, sinisterly. 'Of course, but in the rite, your spirit _will_ be broken, never fear.'

'Oh so _that's _why you don't have any spirited Death-Eaters. You screw them up in your precious rites,' Draco said mockingly.

'You will, though, build it up again afterwards, once you have learnt the supremacy of my ways,' Voldemort continued calmly, ignoring Draco's interruption.

Draco swore. 'I refuse to swear in,' he said flatly.

Voldemort's smile stretched wider, and Draco felt something tinkering with his mind. The door of his mind had flapped open, and now, he realised with a sickening feeling in his stomach, that Voldemort was going through that wide-open door.

Draco's swearing increased, but in his mind, he frantically sought to close that door, to banish Voldemort. Desperately, he began running through his numerology charts in his mind, hoping that the prevalence of those numbers would confuse Voldemort. _1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34 _… it worked to some extent. The intrusive presence paused, as if bewildered by the sudden patterns of numbers, and then retracted.

Draco opened his eyes and then they widened, as he could feel a curse hitting him, and his body became limp, and his mind again felt like as though it had been thoroughly exposed. Voldemort's consciousness imposed itself on his mind, and like Hermione, he felt a stretching sensation on his mind, but unlike Hermione, his mind did not rebound as easily. He could feel his sense of being present ebbing away, and ebbing away, and he lost any sense of physical feeling, as he retreated into the corners of his mind, a whirlwind of thoughts sweeping his consciousness away.

Author's note: Well, that's another chapter over. Sorry it took so long, but I really had to sketch out the next chapters before I felt I could publish this one. There'll be another three chapters after this until the end, and then this part of the fic will be over!

I've revised chapter 14, 18 and 19 because of the _Order of the Phoenix _and me checking up the Lexicon (I had no idea that Rookwood was in Azkaban. Where did that come from?) Most of the changes are really insignificant details, which you probably wouldn't notice, but I did fix Mundungus Fletcher to fit the book, and I changed Jem's technical details to match OotP – he's now a Metamorphmagus, instead of a Shape-shifter. I'd suggest re-reading chapter 14 (esp. the bit about Jem) just to clear that up.

Anyway, anybody remember their maths who think they can tell me what pattern Draco was using in an attempt to bamboozle Voldemort?

Thanks for the reviews (16 since last time!), they are very encouraging, and I would _love_ more (a _very_ unsubtle hint.) Reviews make me very very happy, so I write better! (It's my goal to reach 100 by the end of this fic). Besides, reviews mean you can have _your_ say (to an extent)!

mina-ise – end of July is still far too long to wait! Hope you enjoy this chappie.

Cinnamon Angel – chances of JKR's Draco changing are slim, I read the Albert Hall transcript and she doesn't seem to think of Draco as reedemably good. Disturbingly, she doesn't even seem to like him – Stephen Fry was the one who said that Draco had evil with style. (Sigh). Yeah, I'm still mourning Sirius. (Sobs). Do you come from France or Switzerland? That's so cool. I feel sorry for your mum and brother – that's terrible, having OotP in front of you but not able to read it! By the way, did you change your name?

No Comment – love your pen-name. And thanks!

liltigger – thank you! I'm not the most patient person in the world either, and the author of my favourite fics are all terribly slow to update.

wolfy65 – It's a pity Narcissa/Sirius would be incestruous now with the Black family tree. Do you know how hard it is to try and modify all the background and everything planned out to suit canon? Thank you for your reviews!

Lady Prongs – It _will _probably take me 3 years to finish this fic, which will hopefully keep me preoccupied enough not to keep moaning about when book 6 will come out!

Jay – brilliantly bored, is that because it's now summer? I'm sure JKR would be shocked if you said you liked Voldemort, but I rather like this guy myself.

Porphyrophobic Grape – I adore _To Kill a Mockingbird _too! I'm not sure _how_ they would squish the big fat book 4 into a movie, let alone book 5! And I'm glad you liked _The Last Bark._ I'm still sniffling about Sirius.

Cloud*Dancer – I know … kill anybody but Sirius! I actually quite liked Harry in book 5 – better than Harry in book 4 although his CAPITAL-LETTER-RANTS could get a little irritating.

Lee-SenRu – thank you!

mousas – rambling's fine, I ramble all the time. My whole fic is one long ramble!

Cooky173 – differently, yes, but I actually find myself liking it.

airotci – I'll try not to stop writing my fic. And go delusion! Sirius lives!!!!! In my fic anyway!

Crystal Slytherin - OK, you claim that Bill was a charm breaker for underground passages at Egypt for Gringotts, but that's _not_ true! I'm right! To quote PoA: "_our eldest son, Bill, works as a **curse breaker** for Gringotts Wizarding Bank_," which is perfectly in line with my fic! Just had to point that out. But – if you do see any other errors, feel free to point them out. I get peeved about errors too, so I would like to avoid them. For some reason, I only read that review recently although it seems quite old …


	22. Saving the Day

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Everything recognisable belongs to JKR, or Warner Bros., and all those people making lots of money. I'm not, and this is just my little version of what happens in the Harry Potter universe.

Chapter 21 – Saving the Day 

Hermione and Harry stared at the dark wooden doors that led to the antechamber. Abstractedly, Hermione noticed the silvery snake on the doorhandle.

'Are you sure this will work?' Harry asked, holding the blood-soaked cloth tightly.

Hermione nodded. 'It's not like there's anything else we can do,' she pointed out.

Harry nodded, and determinedly, he reached out, and pulled open the door with one hand, while the other still held the cloth. Hermione also clutched the blood soaked cloth and together, they passed through the Death-Eater blood protected doors into the antechamber. No magical flames incinerated them, and they breathed a sigh of relief in unison.

After their initial relief, they noticed that the antechamber was surprisingly empty.

'Where are the Death-Eaters?' Harry asked, glancing around curiously.

'They must be inside.'

Harry nodded, and the two headed over to the door on the other side of the antechamber.

'Ready?' he asked.

Hermione sighed. 'There's no point wasting time, I suppose.' 

They pushed open the door, and skidded into the chamber, wands raised. Hermione shuddered only briefly as she remembered the mental torture she had previously been subjected to in that same chamber. However, any thoughts on herself vanished swiftly at the sight before her that made her eyes widen in horror.

'Draco?' she whispered incredulously.

He was suspended in the air, back arched, stomach facing the ceiling, as if held by some giant invisible string tied around his waist that had jerked him upwards. His grey eyes were closed, and his already pale skin held an unhealthy pallor and sheen of sweat. His silvery-blond hair streaked down from his unmoving head, his limp body twitching ever so slightly now and again, as if the string had cruelly yanked him ever so slightly.

Draco was surrounded, by masses of black cloaked and hooded Death-Eaters kneeling on the ground, who, as yet, had been unaware of the entrance of the two teenagers, so involved were they in the pale figure that hung in the air, and their master. Hermione watched closely, and noticed that Voldemort stood before Draco, his pale, snake-like face devoid of sweat despite the obvious effort on his face. His eyes, that were focused on Draco, were slit-pupilled and glowing red, and Hermione could suddenly feel the presence of a mind, lying wide-open, and another mind, struggling to force its way through.

__

Cut the link!

Something in her shouted out, and without even stopping to think, she raised her wand, pointing it at Draco, and shouted words – words she did not even know.

Draco fell, abruptly, as if the string had been broken suddenly, and Hermione hastily used the cushioning charm to prevent Draco's obviously weak body from hitting the floor.

Voldemort's eyes went wide with anger, and he turned, now distracted from Draco, to see Hermione and Harry, both pushing their way over to Draco's position in the centre of the ring of Death-Eaters.

The red eyes gleamed, with anticipation, on seeing the two visitors.

'Ah, Mr Potter,' he said. 'So nice of you to join us. Come to save your friend, have you?'

Harry stood firmly, green eyes direct and unwavering.

'Did you enjoy the dreams I sent you?' Voldemort asked, smiling maliciously. 'They worked rather effectively,' he said. 'Premonitions, that I knew would happen, sent along to you. It made you come.'

Harry stared at the Dark Lord. Voldemort had sent the dreams! Hermione had been right, but they had turned out true, only he had exaggerated the implications. Voldemort had wanted the dreams to lure him here, and he had succeeded … but the dreams no longer terrified Harry. He felt stronger. Both Hermione and Ron were safe, and he straightened his back, returning Voldemort's gaze levelly.

Voldemort laughed softly to see his defiance, and turned to Hermione. 'And Hermione! I am glad you came too,' he said, smiling unpleasantly. 'I believe our conversation was cut short earlier by _him_,' he cast a scathing look at Draco, who lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious.

Hermione did not bother answering, but knelt down beside Draco, cradling his head in her arms.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and he snapped. 'Surround them,' he ordered his Death-Eaters. They scrambled to obey, standing up and moving oppressively around the three youths.

Hermione glanced up at Harry, who looked back at her, concern and worry written in those green eyes. Their plan had been to grab Draco and run. Now, evidently, such a plan was futile. Heart pumping fearfully, Hermione checked an unmoving Draco for a pulse, and breathed a short sigh of relief. He was alive, at least.

Harry, though, had turned back to face Voldemort, wand still at the ready.

Voldemort, though, gave a casual wave of his hand, and Harry and Hermione's wands flew into his waiting hand, much to their dismay.

'Enough of this foolish business,' he said calmly, throwing the two wands to one of his Inner Circle Death-Eaters to keep safely. 'You've lost, Potter. Accept that. You should have been killed last year, fourteen years ago,' he spat, 'but luck saved you then. There is no luck left to save you now. You don't even have your wand,' he said, smiling despite the glowing red pupils of his eyes. 'I cannot allow you to wander about this world, disturbing my plans,' he said.

'So you're just going to kill us then,' Harry said defiantly.

'Oh no,' Voldemort said, still smiling. 'I have need of Draco and Hermione.'

Hermione let out an involuntary whimper of fear at the idea of being forced to remain with Voldemort, and Harry's face set with determination.

'I can't let that happen,' Harry said calmly, although his hands were clenched so tightly that the knuckles turned white.

'Who's going to stop me?' Voldemort asked softly. Breaking from the eye contact, he turned to another Death-Eater. 'Mulciber, go and find the Death-Eaters who were supposed to have stopped these two from escaping and bring them back to me,' he instructed coldly.

A Death-Eater, presumably Mulciber, bowed. 'Yes, my lord,' he muttered, and left the room, passing through the Death-Eater blood protected doors.

Voldemort turned a courteous smile on Harry and Hermione. 'I must, of course, punish the imbeciles who let you go. And then, after that little warm up, I'm afraid, Mr Potter, that I must remove _you_ from this world.'

Harry did not even shake in fear, but stood doggedly before Voldemort, although Hermione's face was white in worry.

'Harry,' she whispered urgently.

'Don't worry, Hermione,' Harry said from the corner of his mouth. 'I'll be fine.' But Hermione noticed that his hand shook.

Mulciber returned with the eleven Death-Eaters who had attacked Harry and Hermione. Distracted briefly from Voldemort, Hermione scrutinised the followers, and frowned just slightly. They were in better shape than they should be, she thought. Standing upright, without any visible injuries, although she smiled smugly with satisfaction to see that the biggest one still had a rip to his cloak.

Voldemort smiled nastily. 'Let us now begin the punishments,' he said silkily, his eyes straying from the Death-Eaters who had just entered to Harry.

One of the Death-Eaters coughed loudly.

'What is it, Avery?' Voldemort snapped, not happy at being interrupted.

'My apologies for interrupting, my Lord,' Avery said, 'but would it not be better to ensure that Potter, Granger and Malfoy do not escape while you take care of the other Death-Eaters?' Avery bowed, obviously nervous at disturbing the Dark Lord. Hermione didn't like his suggestion at all, and cursed Avery for being far too clever and watchful. She remembered that Avery had been the Death-Eater Voldemort had been unhappy with last year, and knew that he must be feeling very anxious about raising such a suggestion which could bring him favour, or disfavour.

There was a moment of tense silence, and then the Dark Lord nodded. 'Your words are wise,' he said. Avery breathed a noticeable sigh of relief, and Voldemort turned to Harry. '_Cru–_'

The words were begun, but not ended, as Harry was suddenly lifted bodily off his feet and hurled to safety.

'What the?' said Harry, confused, as he steadied himself back on the feet.

'Look!' Hermione cried out, pointing.

The Death-Eaters Mulciber had brought in had thrown of their hoods and robes, and had begun fighting against the other Death-Eaters.

Startled, the Death-Eaters scattered.

'Stay and fight!' Voldemort roared.

'Professor Lupin!' Hermione gasped. 'Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick!' She was clearly flabbergasted, as she watched the people who had suddenly emerged from under the black robes.

'It's the Order of the Phoenix,' Harry said, grinning at Hermione. 'Guard Malfoy!' he yelled, as he ran to join the Order.

Amidst all the confusion, an Inner Circle Death-Eaters threw Harry's wand to Harry, and Hermione's to Hermione, and Hermione, thankfully holding her stolen wand again, gave the Death-Eater, to whom Voldemort had given the wands earlier, a suspicious look. A slight nod from the Death-Eater confirmed it, and she smiled. Professor Snape.

The Order of the Phoenix began fighting, and Hermione watched, pleased, although she didn't recognised some of them.

'Fred, George, Ginny!' she exclaimed, seeing the three Weasleys.

Ginny rushed over to Hermione. 'You're safe!' she said, relieved.

'What are you doing here?' Hermione asked, even as she began fighting the Death-Eaters, throwing Jinxes in every direction, doing as Harry had told her, keeping guard on Draco.

'Me, Fred and George,' Ginny neatly deflected a curse thrown at her, 'found you lot,' she ducked, 'were missing,' she skipped aside from another bolt of light, 'so we found Dumbledore, and he called a meeting of the Order,' she threw a Hex at an approaching Death-Eater. 'The Order decided to come and rescue you.'

'So are these the Order of the Phoenix?' Hermione asked, recalling the name Harry had told her earlier in the year.

Ginny nodded vigorously, as she again ducked a bolt of lime green light. 'That's Mundungus Fletcher,' she pointed at the short man, who was chortling as he used his wand to pick up Death-Eaters by the throat and throw them across the room. 'And that's Artemis Pearce,' she gestured to the tall archer, who had set herself up atop a bookshelf, firing arrows at Death-Eaters, many of which hit, or at least, caused them to flee in panic. Jem Codex came running past her, took a leap into the air, and kicked a Death-Eater who had been approaching Ginny from the side. 'Thanks, Jem,' Ginny said, grinning. 'That's Jem Codex,' she said. 'He's a Metamorphmagus.'

'Really?' Hermione said, fascinated, as she enacted a quick Shield charm to prevent a curse from hitting her.

'Yeah,' Ginny said smirking. 'He was Mulciber. That's how we got in. And you know Mad-Eye Moody, the real thing this time, and Professor Figg, and Lupin.'

She frowned, ducking as another curse flew towards her. 'Oh, and that's Nicolas Flamel,' she said, gesturing to the said famous wizard, who was busy working on the Death-Eater blood protected doorways, doing something complicated, which then caused it to explode with a loud bang and puff of green and red smoke, which helped to add to the chaos.

'Nicolas Flamel?' Hermione asked, eyes wide with awe. 'Oh my goodness!'

'Calm down,' Ginny advised. 'You can chat to him later.'

Hermione and Ginny had stationed themselves above Draco's limp body, defending him, and themselves, while the other members of the Order duelled and fought with the Death-Eaters, who out-numbered them easily in numbers, although not in strength.

Fred and George had devised a most ingenious way of fighting. Hermione watched as Fred threw a small object with remarkable aim into the mouth of one Death-Eater, who she recognised as Nielsen, who swallowed with a loud gulp. Wondering what on earth Fred had attempted to accomplished, she watched amazed as Nielsen suddenly looked rather green in the face, and, bent double, retched on the floor. With his back to them, George easily knocked him out with a simple Jinx.

'What was that?' Hermione shouted at the Weasley twins as she ducked another bolt of purple light.

Fred winked. 'Puking Pastilles.'

He threw another object into another Death-Eater's mouth.

'And that?'

'Nosebleed Nougat,' George said cheerfully as he Hexed the Death-Eater. 'Want to order some? They're on our newest order forms. As you can see, they're useful in both serious and joking situations.'

'Can't you be serious?'

'Nope.'

Watching the ex-Aurors fighting was amazing, both Hermione and Ginny decided. Although both Mad-Eye Moody and Arabella Figg were old, they still remembered much of their training and expertise in their fields, and their duels were fast and usually resulted in their successes.

Professor McGonagall and Flitwick were equally interesting to watch. McGonagall would duel with a Death-Eater, usually with quite a disdainful expression on her face, as the Death-Eater would inevitably quail under her gaze and wand. Flitwick, on the other hand, was like an excitable ball of energy – he had been a Duelling Champion when younger, and it still showed. His short height proved no disadvantage, as he somersaulted and jumped into the air avoiding dangerous curses, hexes and jinxes, all the while, providing his own. 

About ten minutes into the fighting, Sirius burst into the chamber through the now ruined doorway. He rubbed his hands readily. 'Have I missed anything?' he shouted at Lupin, who shook his head as he casually deflected a curse sent at him by a short, thin Death-Eater.

'Plenty left,' Lupin said, flicking his wand idly. 'Unfortunately.'

Sirius grinned, pushed his long dark hair out of his face and jumped right into the fray, duelling with any Death-Eater in his path.

'What kept you?' Harry called to his godfather.

Sirius successfully disarmed, then stunned a minor Death-Eater, who collapsed on the floor, a surprised look on his face as his hood slid off. Without turning to Harry, he shouted back in reply.

'I was having a chat with my cousin,' he said as he broke out of a simple jinx. 'Narcissa's now told the House-Elves and the servants to stay put and not try to rescue Lucius Malfoy, or the furniture,' he added, as the throne-like chair on which Voldemort had previously sat crashed and fell in broken pieces to the floor.

'Malfoy's mum is your cousin?' Harry asked incredulously as he shot the Impediment Jinx at an approaching Death-Eater.

'Yes, her father was my father's brother,' Sirius said absently as he ducked a bolt of red light. Turning to look at Harry, his eyes widened. 'Watch out, Harry!' he shouted, just too late, as a shearing bolt of light caused a gash to appear in Harry's side, ripping a slight hole in his robes, dripping with blood. Sirius ran over to his godson, deflecting a curse on the way. 'Are you alright?' he asked urgently, brushing his long dark hair from his eyes to inspect the wound.

'I'm fine,' Harry said, biting his lip in pain. 'It's only a little bit, but it'll make fighting uncomfortable.'

'You're not fighting like that!' Sirius insisted.

'I am!' Harry retorted.

Sirius looked unconvinced. 'Nicolas!'

Nicolas Flamel strolled over unconcernedly from where he had been watching the battle, throwing in the occasional curse.

'You're better at healing than I am,' Sirius said, pointing at Harry's slight wound. Nicolas shrugged and ran one light finger and wand over the wound. It sealed up.

'Thanks!' Harry said, and leapt to his feet again.

'Be careful,' Nicolas warned. 'When you get back to Hogwarts, you had better get it re-healed. That was only temporary.'

'Why aren't you fighting anyway?' Sirius asked him.

Nicolas grinned. 'Too old, Sirius. I mean, six-hundred and seventy, really. Besides, I don't believe I'm needed,' he said, eyeing the fray. 'Let us just say I am watching your backs.'

Sirius shrugged. 'Suit yourself,' he said, bounding back to the battle.

'Ah, to be young again,' Nicolas said, chuckling reminiscently, as he stationed himself near the doors again.

One Death-Eater had his wand pointed at Mundungus, and unaware of that, Mundungus continued hoisting Death-Eaters into the air, and throwing them. Soon, that Death-Eater had fallen forwards onto the ground, blood bubbling from his mouth, an arrow protruding from his back, the result of a deadly shot.

'M'thanks, Arti,' Mundungus shouted up, finally, noticing the dead, pierced Death-Eater on the ground, which he lifted into the air anyway, and threw into a crowd of Death-Eaters for effect.

Artemis gave a brief smile, and continued to fire her arrows.

Lucius Malfoy snuck up to Arabella Figg from behind. '_Avada –_' he began but did not finish, as Arabella Figg turned to him with surprising agility for a woman her age and jumping up, kicked him full on in the face, so that he fell backwards, confused, his nose broken and bleeding. Cursing, he Disapparated.

Crabbe and Goyle snr.s hurtled along to Flitwick from opposite directions, who was standing, after having finished duelling with a Death-Eater. Flitwick, pretending not to notice them, waited until the last possible moment, when he levitated himself upwards, causing Crabbe and Goyle to crash into one another with a sickening thud. Landing down, Flitwick hexed the two of them quickly, and they would have fallen, had it not been for Avery, who gave the two lumps of Death-Eaters a disgusted look, and threw them safely out of the way with his own wand.

The fighting continued, fast and furious. One Death-Eater who had noticed Nicolas Flamel standing near the ruined doorway, surrounded Flamel in flames, which the alchemist indifferently brushed away with his wand, and back towards the fleeing Death-eater. Another had his hands around Sirius' throat, choking him, when Sirius suddenly disappeared, and in his place, was a bear-like black dog, his Animagus form, that snapped and snarled at the startled, and frightened Death-Eater, who hurriedly backed away. A Death-Eater, trying to creep up on Moody, was suddenly hexed by surprise, as Moody's magical eye swivelled overtime in his head.

Ginny, who had run to help Fred and George, leaving Hermione alone with Draco, suddenly shrieked, struggling in the grasp of Travers, whose hood had fallen from Ginny's kicking and squirming to reveal his identity.

'Let me go!' Ginny shouted, and tried to knee Travers in the groin, but the Death-Eater held on grimly, avoiding her aim.

Jem saw her, and hurried over, firing hexes and jinxes at Travers, but they slid easily off a shield the Death-Eater had enacted, which was annoyingly strong. Unperturbed, Jem grinned, frowned just slightly in concentration, and then Travers gaped, to find himself staring at … himself. The shield faded, and Jem promptly hexed him in the face.

Hidden underneath his robes, Peter Pettigrew lunged towards Lupin, his silver hand reached out, his watery eyes undecipherable. The hand touched Lupin's neck briefly, and Lupin cried out, when Mundungus Fletcher hooked Pettigrew around the neck and threw him backwards. Wormtail swore, and hurried up, but Sirius was already bounding towards him, a black dog, and he spat and Disapparated.

Lupin held his neck as if in pain. 'Thanks, Dung,' he called to Mundungus, who gave a tight grin.

'S'no problem,' he said amiably.

Hermione worked furiously. Fred and George were covering her as well, now that Ginny had left, and she threw jinxes here and there.

'Fred! George!' Sirius called urgently, when he and Lupin were surrounded by about twelve Death-Eaters, summoned by the angry Wormtail.

Fred and George raced off, armed with plenty of Puking Pastilles and Nosebleed Nougats, leaving Hermione alone.

Hermione was tiring, and her vision became almost blurry, as she stood above Draco. '_Stupefy!_' she shouted, downing an approaching Death-Eater, but unseen, another three Death-Eaters had crept up behind her as she had been stunning the other.

'_Stupefy!_'

Hermione was thrown against the wall as three strong bolts of red light directed themselves at her chest, and she slid to the floor, eyes closed, one arm at an odd angle, a trickle of blood running down her face.

'HERMIONE!' Harry yelled in horror, seeing her fall next to Draco. Without even thinking, he Hexed the three Death-Eaters who had Stunned Hermione simultaneously, and made to run back to her, when Jem thrust him back into the remaining fray.

'She's alive,' the Metamorphmagus said shortly, 'and you need to keep her so by fighting.' Fred and George returned, dismayed, back into their defensive position, now guarding both Draco and Hermione.

The fighting grew less all of a sudden, as Death-Eaters began Disapparating from the room. Evidently, Voldemort had given them a silent order to leave. Some of their number, about twenty in all, remained though, lying prone on the floor.

'It's over!' Ginny shouted exuberantly, and gave her brothers a hug.

'Ron will be mad to have missed all this,' Fred predicted with an evil grin.

'Did you meet him,' Harry asked, interested.

George nodded. 'He was asleep when we saw him, and he's still asleep unless I miss my guess.'

'I'll have to pick up our broomsticks,' said Harry, remembering. 'I left my Firebolt, and Malfoy's Nimbus outside the Gates.'

'Right,' George nodded. 'We'll go and get them now.' He and Fred left.

'They just didn't want to clean up,' said Ginny, disgusted.

Harry looked around, breathing hard, still, but filled with relief. Again, he had escaped another situation, yet he still felt an odd sense of disquiet. Would the Death-Eaters really just leave Malfoy Manor like that?

His eyes moved across the room to where Draco and Hermione were lying. 'Should we take them outside?' he asked Sirius.

Sirius shook his head absently, involved with tying up a Death-Eater with magical rope. 'We'll get them when we're all done, and Portkey them to Hogwarts. Give me a hand, won't you, Harry?' he asked, and Harry nodded, trying to tie the most complicated knots he could think of.

'We're all safe and alive,' Professor McGonagall said, with a relieved smile.

'Where's Severus?' Lupin inquired.

'He had to leave when told to, or it would look a bit suspicious,' Professor Flitwick squeaked.

All the members of the Order were alive, and each of them were smiling with satisfaction, as they magically bound their prisoners, and lifted the dead Death-Eaters onto stretchers to be taken outside. Mad-Eye Moody stumped around to the presumed dead Death-Eater, checking warily that they were really dead, and not just faking death, and inspected each magical knot tying the prisoners, to make sure they were secure. Then, he double-checked, and triple-checked the whole lot again.

They were removing the last Death-Eater from the room, with most of the Order outside, already contacting the Ministry of Magic to help clear up and take the prisoners to Azkaban, when Harry glanced back into the almost empty room, and noticed a darkly-clad figure walking towards the unconscious forms of Draco and Hermione, whom the Order had decided to leave until they were ready depart back to Hogwarts.

Lord Voldemort was walking steadily towards the two, wand pointed at them.

'NO!' Harry shouted, and ran back. None of the Order heard him, gone as they were, and he raced, alone, to Hermione and Draco.

'Get out of my way, Potter,' Voldemort snarled, his eyes red with anger.

'No,' Harry said firmly, his pulse going at triple speed.

'I will_ not_ leave without them!' Voldemort hissed. 'After all this trouble, losing my Death-Eaters, losing my base … I will at least accomplish what I wanted to accomplish.'

'No!' Harry said, planting himself resolutely before Hermione and Draco's bodies. 'You will not!'

Behind him, Draco Malfoy lay, face pale and just a bit dusty from the fighting. His mind was swimming in darkness, a great weariness of pain and hollowness refusing to let him up from the black plain in which he inhabited, when little pinpricks of warm, golden light appeared in his vision, despite the fact that his eyes were closed. He felt something tugging at him.

__

Wake up, a little voice inside him said.

__

I don't want to, he thought back. _It hurts, my mind hurts, I can't wake up …_

Wake up, the voice in the back of his mind insisted.

__

I can't … he said, sighing. _I don't want to ever wake up …_

If you don't wake up, the voice continued, _your friends will die. Harry Potter will die, and Hermione will die, and all will come to nought._

I can't …

You must!

The golden pinpricks of light intensified, and he gasped, as his eyes were suddenly forced open. Blinking rapidly, he floundered, when his hand caught at some hair, Hermione's head. Instinctively, his hand reached for her neck, even as he heard the sounds of voices arguing dimly in the background. Fumbling weakly, Draco drew out the chain with the ring on the end he had given Hermione, and clutched it tightly. A moment later, his eyes widened, focusing, as energy infused his body, and he sat up, trembling, and stood up. Hermione looked wan and pale next to him, and he felt his heart lurch, but stood.

'You will not take either of them,' Harry was saying loudly to Voldemort.

'And I will not listen to your heartening sentiments,' Voldemort sneered. He raised his wand. '_Crucio!_'

Harry stumbled to the ground, writhing, with reddening, agonising pain … which stopped suddenly.

'Stop,' Draco said, voice as firm as he could make it, but still faint and drained.

Voldemort lowered his wand. 'So, young Draco, you have decided to join us again in the waking world.' The red in his eyes began to recede, and a look of focused concentration filled them.

'Only for as long as necessary,' Draco said, voice unwavering.

'I will kill him,' Voldemort said, wand pointed at Harry, who was his knees, struggling to stand again.

'You will not,' Draco said. He hesitated only fleetingly. 'I will come with you –'

'And the girl?' Voldemort said quickly.

'No,' Draco said firmly, one hand starting to shake with effort. 'I will come with you, if you swear not to kill Harry or Hermione. Let them go free, and I will come with you and do your bidding.'

'You said this once,' the Dark Lord recalled, softly laughing, derisively. 'You think I will believe you.'

'I will promise to do as you wish,' Draco said, eyes half-shut as exhaustion threatened him.

'No!' Harry said, alarmed. With effort, he stood up, the effects of the Cruciatus Curse dying.

'Don't try to stop me, Potter,' Draco said calmly. 'It is my choice.'

'You can't do this!'

'I can, and I will,' Draco's face was white but he continued steadily.

Voldemort smiled mockingly. 'What touching sentiment,' he commented dryly.

'Will you swear to it?' Draco demanded.

Wizarding swears were not to be taken lightly, but after only a moment's pause, the Dark Lord nodded. 'I will not kill Potter and Hermione if you come with me now.'

Draco nodded, satisfied, closing his eyes briefly.

Voldemort picked up a piece of rubble from the floor, some wood from his chair. '_Portus,_' he said, pointing his wand at the wood, which glowed blue, shaking loudly before becoming still again. He held the Portkey out to Draco, who held it with pale, slender hands. 'One … two –'

'_Wingardium leviosa!_'

The Portkey suddenly found itself floating in the air.

'_Incendio!_'

The Portkey burst into flame, and fell, charred ashes on the floor.

'Dumbledore!' Harry exclaimed, seeing the wizard.

Dumbledore was striding through the ruined doorway, his long silvery beard somehow managing not to get caught up in his legs or robes, his normally twinkling blue eyes snapping electric with fury, his face white, and his wand aloft.

'_Dumbledore_,' Voldemort breathed, his eyes widening, the irises glowing red again. He raised his own wand.

'Are you ready to fight me, Tom?' Dumbledore asked, voice composed, staring tranquilly at Voldemort. 'Do you wish to fight me before the terms are met?'

The two stared at each other, blue eyes boring into red eyes.

Voldemort began spitting swear-words.

'I did not think so, Tom. You know what would happen if we fought before the terms have been agreed,' Dumbledore said, his powerfully heavy voice ringing through the chamber, yet not rising above a shout.

'You interfere, you old fool,' Voldemort hissed, angrily, his face whiter than before in its anger. He pointed his wand at Dumbledore, and a wave of white-hot flames surrounded the wizard. A fountain of water sprinkled above Dumbledore's head, extinguishing his flames. 

'As do you,' Dumbledore said serenely.

Again, Voldemort tried to fight him, this time encasing him in black darkness, but light shone and the inkiness dissipated. He cast his wand at the floor before Dumbledore, and a crack appeared, but Dumbledore stood steadily.

Dumbledore raised his wand. 'Will you leave now, or will you duel?'

Voldemort glared at him. 'This is not over, Dumbledore,' he said, his red, slit-pupilled eyes staring at Dumbledore intensely.

'No, it is not, Tom,' Dumbledore said calmly. 'Unfortunately so.'

With a loud crack, the Dark Lord Disapparated. The room was empty of Death-Eaters now, and Draco and Harry both turned to stare at Dumbledore.

'Rest, Mr Malfoy,' Dumbledore said, gesturing his hand to Draco. 'You did well today,' he said, voice sounding kind and also impressed.

Draco nodded.

__

Well done, another voice said in his mind, as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor yet again, merciful blackness releasing his mind to recover.

Author's notes: Well, that was a fun chappie to write! All the fighting, that is. Thinking up creative ways for the Order to fight was enjoyable, and now I feel quite energetic, actually. Um, Flitwick was influenced by Yoda, Jem's shape-shifting fight from X-Men, and that's all I can think of now. I have to admit that I took a lot of influence from JKR's _Order of the Phoenix_ for Dumbledore's arrival, and also for some of the fighting. Before, I had no idea how to do the fighting, but her big finish-up in the Department of Mysteries helped greatly. Actually, I thought _Order of the Phoenix_ would make me feel like never writing this fanfic again, but I've actually found it encouraging and it has given me so much material to work with! So, I hope you enjoyed the third-last chappie, next one's the second-last one.

I've started thinking about part 2 of my fic, and I've found that I need some help from somebody British, or who used to live in Britain! I need help in the form of information about Britain, way of life etc., since I'm not actually British. If anybody wouldn't mind me sending e-mails every so often asking about British customs, could you please tell me? Thanks!

Reviews! 9 … okay, I suppose there's still hope for 100, but … please? Anyway, thank you to those who did review.

mina-ise – yay! Yippee! You got it finally!

No Comment – I'm glad you found it interesting. Draco will make it out of this bit fine, as you could probably tell.

Porphyrophobic Grape – isn't it interesting how the guy who plays Oliver Wood isn't going to be in the third film, yet quidditch is so important to the third book? I have no idea what they're going to do about quidditch in film 3. 

~Fawn the Panther~ – I'm still mourning Sirius, don't worry.

Lady Prongs – for once, your prediction's not quite right! I think this is the only Manor they'll be encountering. _The Manor_ is the name for part 1. I think part 2 will be called _The Beckoning Past_ but I'm not too sure yet.

wolfy 65 – thank you!

Cinnamon Angel - yeah, I was thinking of reading it slowly to savour it, but then I gave up, and read it as fast as possible in the end!

Alexis-Lee - you're back! Thanks, and I'm glad you like Voldemort. He's reverted a bit in this chapter, but it'll all make sense. 


	23. The Hospital Wing

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: I don't claim to own anything in this fic unless you didn't see it in Harry Potter (books or films), or anywhere else, which is very little. So, don't sue me! 

Chapter 22 – The Hospital Wing

Hermione's eyes opened slowly, and she found herself in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. Staring at the ceiling, she listened to sounds of movement, and conversation. What time was it, she wondered vaguely? Blinking, she turned her head to her left, and half smiled, feeling a nagging worry that something had happened that she couldn't just yet remember.

Looking left, she could see Draco was lying on a Hospital bed like hers, his head tilted towards her, eyes shut, silvery blond hair splayed out on the white pillows. His face no longer had the unhealthy pallor it had before, but looked much healthier … _than before what?_ Hermione frowned, and remembered as a rush of images flowed into her mind. Before what? All that excitement, of course. How could she even forget?

'Hermione?' a voice called softly from her right.

Hermione turned her head a hundred and eighty degrees and smiled widely. 'Harry!'

'You all right?' Harry asked, green eyes concerned.

Hermione winced as she moved a little. 'I'll be fine,' she assured him, and the worry diminished from his eyes. 'Just a little bit stiff,' she added, raising a finger to her head as her voice set off a small spasms of aches. 'How about you?' she asked, surprised. 'What are you doing in here. Actually, how did we get in here? Last thing I remember I Stunned a Death-Eater, and then there were voices shouting at me, and then I wake up. We won, right?'

'It ended,' Harry shrugged. 'I'm only in here because I got a bit cut on the side. Nicolas Flamel fixed it when we were there, but he thought it'd be better if I had it re-healed, so Madam Pomfrey did it again. I'm fine though,' he smiled reassuringly, seeing her anxiety. 'Only a scratch.'

'So what happened to me?' Hermione frowned.

'You were Stunned,' Harry said, a little awed. 'Three Stupefies, actually, and you're still fine!'

'No wonder it hurts a bit,' Hermione grinned at him. 'So, what happened after I got –' she hesitated.

'Knocked out?' Harry finished. 'Well, we kept on fighting, but it seems the Death-Eaters gave up, so they Disapparated. We cleaned up the leftover mess, but then Voldemort came back and tried to take you and Malfoy,' he nodded over to the pale-haired boy. 'I tried to stop him, but he ended up almost killing me. But then, Malfoy somehow managed to get out of his unconsciousness, don't know how, and offered himself to Voldemort if he promised not to kill us,' Harry shuddered. 'Dumbledore, though, came, and Voldemort fled.'

Hermione was silent, digesting this news.

'He saved us, you know,' Harry said, eyes resting on Draco Malfoy's sleeping form. 'I never would have believed it possible before,' he added quietly.

'I know,' Hermione said softly.

'I wonder, I wonder why he helped us?' Harry mused questioningly. 'I always thought he hated us, but then, he was the one who found out you were missing. He somehow knew how to follow you, I don't know how, but he did. And then, he sacrificed himself to Voldemort _twice_.'

'Maybe he was lonely?' Hermione suggested.

'Could be,' Harry nodded. 'I'm grateful to him, though.'

'You were right,' Hermione said to him ruefully. 'You trust people more than I do.'

'That's good,' he said a little nervously. 'If they're trustable.' 

'Is Ron okay? And the others?' Hermione asked anxiously.

'They're all sleeping and alive,' Harry said, looking around the hospital wing. Hermione could see Ron on the other side of Harry, slumbering, but otherwise healthy. Ginny, the Weasley twins, and a few other members of the Order were resting on the beds too. From the strong sunlight that filtered through, Hermione reckoned it must be about noon.

'So there were captives?' Hermione questioned.

Harry nodded. 'They're going to be given trial under Veritaserum, and we'll be able to identify the Death-Eaters. Finally everyone will know Lucius Malfoy and some of those others are evil,' he said, grinning in anticipation. 'It should also clear Sirius' name,' he added hopefully.

Hermione grinned broadly. 'Yes! Does that mean you can move out of the Dursleys'?' she asked.

Harry's eyes widened. 'Maybe!' he said, excited. 'Are you sure you're all right?' he asked presently.

Hermione smiled. 'Yes,' she said, and shyly, she reached her hand over to his bed, and clasped his hand.

On the other side of the Hospital Wing, Ginny Weasley watched Harry and Hermione, through half-closed eyes. She sighed, seeing their obvious attachment to one another. Well, now she would be forced to stop pining over the Boy Who Lived. He was now officially taken, it seemed, by Hermione, who happened to be one of Ginny's friends. There was no way Ginny would snatch a friend's boyfriend. It just wasn't right. But then again, neither was the idea that Harry and Hermione would be together. But she was prejudiced, she supposed.

She sighed again, and glanced to her right. Jem Codex was lying on the bed in his residual form, eyes watching her.

'Are you well, Ginny?' he asked her.

Ginny nodded, and winced. Her head still hurt a little after all the excitement of last night, and nodding was distinctly uncomfortable. 'Yeah,' she said. She tried to sit up a bit higher. 'How are you?'

'Perfectly fine,' he said cheerfully. 'Once this gash on my arm is fixed up I'll be right as rain.' He displayed his arm flamboyantly, as if saying that his injury proved his bravery or something.

Ginny smiled. A thought struck her. 'If you changed fo–' she began.

'No,' he shook his head.

'What?'

'You were going to ask. If I changed form while injured, would my other form be uninjured. The answer is no. I'd still have a gash on my arm, no matter what form I took,' Jem explained. 'Annoying, isn't it?'

At that moment, three fourth year Gryffindor girls trooped into the room.

'Ginny!' Jane called out, and the three rushed over to their friend.

'We were sooo worried about you, Ginny, sweetie,' Olive said, concerned.

'When you didn't turn up to classes,' Chloe said, 'we knew something must be wrong. And then you didn't come to dinner, or back to the dorm.'

'Yeah, you missed Herbology,' Jane said, grinning.

'With David Arlington,' Olive added, smirking at Chloe's pink face.

Too tired to tease Chloe, Ginny settled for smiling. 'What've I missed,' she inquired.

'Nothing much,' Jane shrugged. 'Except for the drama surrounding _you _disappearing off into the night with your brothers, Hermione Granger –'

'_And_ Harry Potter,' Chloe said quickly, with emphasis.

'Ssshh!' Ginny said, giving Harry, who was still holding hands with Hermione and talking softly, a furtive look. She noticed Jem, in the next bed, twitch, as if hiding a snicker.

'What happened?' Olive inquired.

'I'll tell you all later,' Ginny said, sighing. 'I'm too tired right now.'

Olive, though, was eyeing the bed next to Ginny's, where Jem had pretended to fall asleep again.

'Who's that?' she asked, pointing.

'A-a friend of mine,' Ginny answered.

'Is he at Hogwarts?' Chloe asked, equally interested.

'No,' Ginny said, hurriedly thinking of an answer. 'He goes to Beauxbatons.'

'He's cute,' Olive said, grinning speculatively.

Ginny thought it better not to tell her that Jem was in actual fact about seventy years old, when Jem conveniently chose that moment to give an exaggerated yawn of awakening. He looked at the four girls. '_Bonjour_, Ginny. Can you introduce me to your friends?' he asked with a terrible French accent.

Ginny rolled her eyes. She might as well. 'This is Jane Nicholson, Chloe Smith and Olive Dendy. Jane, Chloe, Olive, this is Jem Codex.'

'Lovely to meet you, _mademoiselles_,' Jem said with a vapid smile.

The three girls giggled, faces going pink, and Ginny rolled her eyes again, inwardly echoing Arabella Figg's earlier description. _Charmer!_

Others were waking up too. Fred and George were sitting in their beds, obviously enjoying their time away from the classroom, and had somehow procured pen and paper, on which they were drawing designs for the packaging of some of their new products. Early in the afternoon, though, Madam Pomfrey shooed the protesting Weasley twins out of the Hospital wing.

'We're still recovering,' Fred said with an air of injured innocence.

George clutched his head as if in agony. 'You can't send us out there!'

'I can and I will,' Madam Pomfrey said briskly. 'Professor McGonagall has requested that both of you attend her Transfiguration class this afternoon.'

'But we're in pain!' Fred said.

'And you have your NEWTS coming up in a couple of weeks,' the Hogwarts nurse said warningly.

Grumbling, Fred and George left the Hospital Wing, holding their designs tightly.

Sirius and Lupin had both woken up by then, and both snickered, seeing the twins sent out, before resuming their discussion. From what Hermione could surmise, they were talking about the likelihood of Sirius being cleared. Lupin would occasionally wince, touching his neck every now and then where Wormtail had burnt him with the silver hand deadly to a werewolf. Artemis Pearce, lying near them, woke suddenly with a jolt in the middle of their discussion.

She sat up abruptly. 'What am I doing here?' she demanded, looking at the Hospital Wing with unfriendly eyes.

'You were Stunned, Arti,' Sirius told her.

'Me? Stunned?' Artemis sounded outraged. 'How?' the fierce woman demanded, amber eyes flashing.

'By a few Death-Eaters,' Sirius said simply.

'You managed to take down two of them before they got you,' Lupin said soothingly.

Artemis's face looked furious.

Snape entered the room at that moment, carrying a flask of some bluish liquid.

'Ah, thank you Severus,' Madam Pomfrey said, taking the flask of liquid. She poured some into two glasses, and handed one to Hermione, and the other to Artemis.

'What is this?' Artemis asked suspiciously.

'You and Miss Granger were both multiply Stunned. This is to make sure you don't have any side-effects from such strong spells. It's lucky both of you were in good physical condition. Severus kindly brewed the potion for you,' Madam Pomfrey said, bustling over to check up on Ron.

Artemis looked at Snape. 'You made it?'

'I did, Artemis,' Snape said calmly.

Artemis scowled, and drank the potion down, at which point, Hermione drank her own. 'I'm going now,' she announced, and swung out of bed.

'Now, Ms Pearce,' Madam Pomfrey said, hurrying over.

Artemis's fierce eyes stared the nurse down. 'I am perfectly fine,' she said coolly. 'I'll pop over to see Albus, and then I'm going.'

'Suits us fine,' Sirius muttered.

'Sirius!' Lupin chided.

'She needs to relax a bit, Arti,' Sirius just said, rolling his eyes.

'That's not her fault,' Lupin said.

'No. I suppose being in Slytherin does that to you,' Sirius acknowledged, and pointedly looked at Snape, who glared at him, before stalking out of the room, black robes billowing behind him.

'You should stop arguing with him,' Lupin said fairly.

'Why bother?' Sirius shrugged. 'He likes it. And it's fun.'

'I doubt Severus likes it,' Lupin said doubtfully.

'You should join in. You have more reason to throw a spat with him than I do, actually,' Sirius said quietly.

Lupin shook his head, face set. Hermione, overhearing, stared. Why would Lupin have a reason to be angry with Snape? Because he exposed his werewolf-self to the world, causing him to leave Hogwarts?

'Out you get Mr Black, Mr Lupin,' Madam Pomfrey said crisply.

Obediently, the two adults left the room, also heading to Dumbledore's office.

'Mr Codex, I believe your stay has expired too,' Madam Pomfrey said, turning to Jem, who looked at her innocently.

'I'm still recovering, Poppy!'

'You are perfectly fine,' Madam Pomfrey said.

'But look at my arm,' Jem said, shoving his bandaged arm in her face.

'Mr Codex!' Madam Pomfrey admonished.

Jem groaned. 'Fine, fine,' he said.

'You too, Miss Weasley,' Madam Pomfrey told Ginny, who stood meekly. After sleeping the morning away, she felt much better.

'Mr Potter, I believe you're healthy enough to leave too,' she said. It was like she was systematically clearing the Hospital wing, though for what purpose, Hermione had no idea. Maybe it was just some deep-seated need in the school nurse to have a nice, clean, quiet and _empty_ Hospital Wing. 

Harry nodded. 'I feel fine anyway,' he said.

'Can I leave too?' Hermione asked, remembering all of a sudden that they had their OWLs very soon.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. 'No, Miss Granger. You have been exposed, as the Headmaster tells me, to an intrusion into your mind, and have also been multiply Stunned, which resulted in a broken wrist. You will _not_ be leaving just yet.'

Harry shrugged, and waving, left the Hospital wing, promising to bring Hermione notes from class before the day was over. Ron had woken up though, and Hermione spent the rest of the day talking to Ron about their adventures, having already heard Harry's side of it all.

When Harry came to give Hermione her notes before dinner, he hesitated, and then kissed her lightly before leaving, red-faced.

Ron, observing this, grinned slyly. 'Is that the beginning of a new relationship, perchance?'

'You don't mind?' Hermione asked apprehensively.

'Of course not!' Ron said, looking outraged at even being asked. 'You two get along a lot better than we did.'

'Thanks, Ron,' Hermione said, smiling.

The next morning, Ron was released from the Hospital wing quickly, while Madam Pomfrey let Hermione go reluctantly, after several inspections, making sure she was truly well again.

'You've recovered very quickly,' she said doubtfully. 'Maybe your mind was not forced into as much as Professor Dumbledore said.'

'I'm fine,' Hermione assured her yet again. She looked over at Draco, who lay, exactly as he had been before. 'Is he going to be alright?'

Madam Pomfrey sighed. 'He should be fine. Professor Dumbledore has taken a look at him, and he says he will recover.'

Hermione nodded, throat tight, and left the Hospital wing.

The next day, though, she returned. Classes had continued, and Arithmancy had been very lonely without Draco sitting next to her as usual. She found herself forced to endure several stares and questions, but she felt reluctant to speak, burying herself into her studies, worried about Draco, letting Harry, Ron, Ginny or the twins do all the speaking.

On Friday, Draco was still in bed in the Hospital wing, seemingly dead to the world, if it weren't for the fact that his pulse was still steady. His naturally pale face was not tense, but relaxed, as if he were just sleeping, except that he wasn't. Had he lapsed into a coma? Hermione knew that Voldemort had forced open his mind completely as part of the Death-Eater rite. He had tried to do the same to her. But why had she escaped relatively unscathed?

She sat next do Draco's bed. Harry and Ron were in the Common Room, studying fast, but she held Draco's hand – neither cold nor warm, watching his closed eyes intently.

'Why don't you wake up?' she murmured, staring into his face. She frowned, and tentatively, she tried to reach out mentally, to brush against his mind, to stir him into awakening, when she heard a slight cough behind her.

She dropped Draco's hand and whirled around. 'Professor Dumbledore!'

'Miss Granger,' Dumbledore said pleasantly, light blue eyes twinkling at her. The Headmaster of Hogwarts stroked his long silver beard pensively, as he watched her.

'Do you know what's wrong with him?' Hermione asked urgently. 'He's still not awoken.'

He sighed. 'I'm afraid Mr Malfoy is not quite so resilient to Voldemort's attacks as you are yourself, Miss Granger.'

'Is he okay?' Hermione asked. 'Everybody says he is, but he isn't waking.'

'He will recover well,' Professor Dumbledore said, smiling a little at her concern. 'He should awaken soon. Tomorrow, maybe? Or Sunday.'

Hermione's heart lightened. 'Why didn't anybody tell me that?' she demanded as an afterthought.

'Nobody knew,' Dumbledore said in response.

'Oh,' Hermione nodded, and took up Draco's hand once more. Then she dropped his hand, placing it carefully back on the bed beside his body. 'I wanted to ask you about some things Voldemort said to me,' she said abruptly.

Professor Dumbledore looked at her queryingly.

'Before Draco and Harry came to rescue me, Voldemort spoke to me about things,' she said seriously. 'That's before he broke into my mind.'

'What things, Miss Granger?' Dumbledore asked, interested.

'He said he didn't just hate Muggles because of his mother's death. He was saying that Muggles are destroying the world, and that he was there to stop them. He said that he was doing good, saving the world, and that you, well that you, sir, are being foolish for allowing the world's destruction to come about. He didn't even look insane when he was saying it, you know, without the red eye stuff,' Hermione's words tumbled over one another in her haste to get them out. She paused. 'Is he speaking the truth?' she asked slowly.

Dumbledore sighed. 'Tom Riddle was, and still is, an intellectually superior wizard,' he said heavily. 'But do _you_ think there is any truth in his words?' Dumbledore's light blue eyes looked piercingly at her.

Hermione quailed at the question. Was there any truth in Voldemort's words? The question was one that had been plaguing her ever since she had spoken with him. _Yes_, a small voice whispered in her mind. Yes, she did believe him.

'I-I do see something in what Voldemort says,' Hermione said hesitantly.

Dumbledore nodded. 'And that is because there are truth in his words.'

'So you don't care about the destruction of the world by Muggles?' Hermione queried.

'I do care, Hermione,' Dumbledore said seriously. '_The balance of the world is tilted_,' he said distantly, almost as he were quoting some famous passage or phrase from a poem Hermione ought to recognise. 'Muggles _are_ destroying the world.'

'And you're just going to let them destroy it?' Hermione demanded.

'No.'

Hermione stared.

'I intend to do whatever I can to prevent this,' Dumbledore said firmly. 'I admire Voldemort's motives, and I admire his ability to see into the heart of the matter, something his Death-Eaters cannot do. But I do not admire the way he intends to balance the world again. Do you agree with him? The idea of slaughtering as many Muggles as possible and subduing the rest of the race?'

'One must make sacrifices,' Hermione echoed Voldemort's words.

'But one must also be humanitarian. We are wizards and witches,' Dumbledore said, his white hair shining silver in the light of the afternoon sun. 'But, above all, we are still human. Human, as Muggles are human. And there are some things that are not humane. Killing others, is not humane, even if there is a purpose.'

Dumbledore's words had mollified Hermione somewhat. 'So why would Voldemort want to do something like that?'

'I don't think Tom Riddle is quite so over the idea of revenge as he believes himself to be,' Dumbledore said softly.

After a pause, she spoke again. 'What do you mean to do then?'

'I will take the course of action dictated by the Prophecy,' the old wizard said serenely.

'The Prophecy!' Hermione exclaimed, latching onto the word. 'Voldemort spoke of a Prophecy too. He spoke of a Golden One that he believed would help him destroy Muggles.'

'And I speak of a Golden One who will help balance the world. There is a Golden One, and there is a Prophecy,' Dumbledore said.

'What is the Prophecy?' Hermione asked eagerly.

'That, I will not disclose to you now,' Dumbledore said, soberly. 'Oftentimes, people hear Prophecies, and try to follow them, and it disturbs the path of the Prophecy. The future is always undecided. The Prophecy relates only to one future. But it is a future I wish to follow.'

'But why would Voldemort want to follow that same future?' Hermione asked, puzzled.

'The prophecies of the ages are words. All prophecies are words. But people can draw different meanings from those words. Voldemort's means of achieving balance is different to mine.'

'What are your means?'

'My means are based on peace,' Dumbledore said simply. 'Peace, and reason. Peace, and love.'

'But there will be war, though, won't there. If we must stop Voldemort?'

'Yes,' Dumbledore nodded sadly. 'War there will be, but not against the Muggles. My intention is to keep those of non-magical blood from warfare, although that is not Voldemort's intent.'

Hermione nodded, and thought again. 'Professor Dumbledore,' she began. 'Who is the Golden One?'

Dumbledore hesitated, as if unsure about speaking. 'The Prophecy tells that the Golden One would be born to parents whose lives are killed, as the seventh month dies. The Golden One will be marked by Voldemort yet also Beloved. Can you draw any conclusions from this?'

Hermione stared at the serious blue eyes. 'Harry,' she breathed. 'Harry is the Golden One. But why would Voldemort want to kill him?'

'Because he stands in his way,' Dumbledore told her, gently knowledgable. 'In the Prophecy, it can be read that Voldemort dies.'

'But he believes in the Golden One,' Hermione said frowning. 'He says the Golden One will _help _him!'

At this, the fleetest of frowns crossed Dumbledore's features. '_But, the Prophecy_,' he muttered, blue eyes briefly shadowed. Seeing Hermione's eyes on him, he spoke to her again. 'Do not worry about this,' he said, assuringly.

Hermione sighed, and nodded. Another thought occurred to her then. 'Why did he want us?' she asked. Seeing Dumbledore's look of polite puzzlement, she clarified the matter for him. 'Harry told me. Before you came, Voldemort said he refused to leave without either Draco or me.'

Dumbledore's eyes were pensive.

'He said earlier that he wanted me to join his side, because he said I was smart and stuff, but I tried to refuse. But he really wanted me to join him. He tried to force me to join him! I'm sure there are other clever wizards and witches out there,' Hermione continued.

'Ah,' Dumbledore said, nodding. 'That. I was wondering when you would ask about why Voldemort would want you in particular.'

'Do _you_ know?' Hermione asked the Headmaster directly.

'Yes, Hermione. As a matter of fact, I do,' Dumbledore said. 'Remember when you were in the chamber with Voldemort, and Voldemort tried to force you to join his side?'

Hermione nodded.

'Yet you resisted. He tried to plunge into your mind, and it hurt, didn't it. I can still feel the aftermath of your pain,' Dumbledore said gravely. 'But he didn't force you. You didn't succumb to his will, and, a couple of days after the event, you were completely recovered. On the other hand, Mr Malfoy,' he nodded to Draco's prone body, 'suffered a similar intrusion. He could not resist, although he did his best, and as a result, he lies here, his mind still struggling to heal itself.'

Hermione waited patiently for Dumbledore to get to the point.

'My point is, Hermione, you have powers that Voldemort does not have. You have a mental ability far beyond his.'

'But he hurt me!' Hermione said, disbelieving.

'Because your mind is as yet untrained,' Dumbledore answered her. 'Such mental facility does not manifest itself in a person until the witch or wizard is well immersed in his or her adolescent years, as any special magical powers usually do. I myself did not realise my own abilities until I was seventeen.'

'You have the same abilities?'

'Oh, yes,' Dumbledore said chuckling. 'And I can tell you now, that Voldemort needs somebody who can read into the minds of others.'

'I can read minds?' Hermione was nearly squeaking.

'You _will_ be able to read minds,' Dumbledore corrected. 'With training.'

Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers. 'What else can I do?' she asked, wondering.

'Reading minds is one useful aspect of this particular magical ability,' Dumbledore said. 'Also the ability to shield one's mind from other minds, as you managed with Voldemort. The ability to shield the minds of others. To even heal minds,' Dumbledore added. 'Which is why I know when young Mr Malfoy will awaken.'

'You've been healing his mind?' Hermione said, awed.

'As you will be able to do.'

'How can I learn?' Hermione asked eagerly.

'I will teach you, commencing when school comes back,' Dumbledore said thoughtfully. 'Since this magic is rare in as powerful a form as yours or mine, and can be dangerous untrained.'

'So Voldemort wanted me for my telepathic powers,' Hermione said slowly, thinking. 'Because _you_ have such telepathic powers.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'That's right.'

'So why did he want Draco?' Hermione asked, looking at Draco.

'I do not know why he wanted Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger,' Dumbledore said solemnly. 'Except that for some reason, Voldemort wanted him. And for that reason alone, Mr Malfoy must be kept safe at all times.'

'How?' Hermione asked automatically.

'Well, for starters, you could look out for him. You could tell him to tell me if anything wrong anything happens to him. I will be talking with his mother, though. Perhaps she would know, although I doubt it. I do not think Lucius Malfoy confided much in his wife at all. Which in some ways is a pity, but also a blessing. Narcissa Black was not a stupid child at school, and she is not stupid now, even after many years of marriage,' Dumbledore mused. 'I will have to talk to her about keeping Mr Malfoy safe during the holidays.' His mind obviously began whirling, thinking of possibilities.

'Is Harry still going home to the Dursleys in the holiday?' Hermione asked, remembering her words previously with Harry about Sirius. 'I mean, won't Sirius be cleared?'

'Of _course _he will be cleared, you silly girl,' a tall man with a pointed beard, dressed in Slytherin colours had been strolling through a picture on the walls of the Hospital wing of a couple of witches embroidering some dresses. He had stopped, though, at the mention of Sirius. 'Ridiculous, really, accusing a member of _my_ family, my great-great-grandson, worthless as he may be, and then imprisoning him! Respect has dropped, in the Ministry, since my day,' the portrait said, sounding terribly insulted. The witches in the background, nodded hurriedly, as the wizard turned imperiously to them.

'Sirius _may _be cleared, Phineas,' Dumbledore said, smiling at the portrait, who sniffed, before sauntering off the portrait, before turning to a gaping Hermione, 'but unfortunately, I cannot let Harry live with Sirius.'

Hermione wrenched her attention from the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, evidently Sirius' great-great-grandfather, whom she remembered reading about in _Hogwarts: A History_ as one of Hogwarts' past Headmasters. 'Why can't Harry live with Sirius?' she said indignantly on behalf of Harry.

'There are reasons,' Dumbledore said dismissively. 'I will tell Harry myself,' he added.

Hermione nodded.

Dumbledore turned to leave, but before doing so, stopped. 'I would appreciate it, Hermione, if you could keep what I have told you, and what Voldemort said to you, to yourself.'

Hermione nodded again, and turned back to Draco, as Dumbledore left the Hospital Wing.

Author's note: I'm devastated. Seven reviews. My goal of one hundred looks further away than ever … I was thinking of doing a whole I'm not going to post another word until I get at least ten+ reviews or something, but I figured that's being unnecessarily cruel to those who _do_ review. But I'm on my knees! Please! Am I so terrible that I'm author of one of the few harry potter fics that are over eighty thousand words (that's about as long as, if not longer than, book 1 of Harry Potter) yet have received less than a hundred reviews? Or is every one too busy on holidays?

Also, nobody answered my British plea, so I'll repeat it. Are any of you people out there British? I can't really get my next part started up until I get a bit of British information. I'll ask the questions here, so just answer me if you know the answer:

*Do people ever visit the Parliament House? Is there a Parliament House? If so, what's it like (from a visitor's point of view). Do kids visit Parliament House when in school (you know, on a school excursion)?

*Okay, what about the Tower of London? Is it spooky? If you've been there, can you describe the entrance, what it's like going in etc. What's it like inside? Is there a central room (ie. crown jewels – what's it like?)

*What films were popular in the summer of '96 in Britain? Clothes? Bands?

*What's a name for a fairly posh area (like Surrey) in Britain?

If you know any answers, tell me!

Thanks to those who did review:

pansygamgee - thank you! "Holy crapazoid" - that's an interesting term!

No Comment - Pettigrew's not caught, but as you have read, in this chapter, they can free Sirius anyway because the Death-Eaters they catch know that Pettigrew's evil and Sirius is innocent! I can tell you now, I'm never going to kill of Sirius in my world.

wolfy 65 - thanks for taking the time out to read my fic!

chintamani - I _love_ the Belgariad! Finally, somebody else out there who worships David Eddings!

Lady Prongs - no real appearance changes, I think. I don't really like that when it happens, personally, although I know lots of other authors use that.

Porphyrophobic Grape - I want 100 reviews! Geez, I sound like a spoilt brat there!

Cinnamon Angel - have fun at work. 

This chappie was the 2nd last chapter for Part One. The next chapter's the last one!


	24. The End for now

THE MANOR

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, and never will be mine!

Chapter 23 – The End … for now …

The Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations approached the fifth years all too quickly, it seemed. The students went to all their classes with expressions of mild, or not so mild, terror, and an abnormal number of them could be found studying after classes in the library. A Hogsmeade trip before the exams was even avoided by practically all the fifth years who were too busy frantically colour coding their notes or memorising incantations to go.

Although Draco had recovered and left the Hospital wing as Dumbledore had predicted on the Sunday, Hermione found no time at all to talk to him as she had wished about the events they had partaken in. She wanted to talk to him about Voldemort, about why he helped her, about the photograph … but it was impossible to find a spare scrap of time alone with him. Both would work often in the library, but surrounded by other fifth years, or the seventh years, who would be taking their NEWTs. Anytime Hermione _did_ find him alone, she would notice the hint of panic under his usually calm exterior, surrounded by books and papers, so she decided perhaps it would be better to wait until the exams were over to find him and speak.

Absolutely panic-stricken, the fifth years filed into the Great Hall, cleared of the long house tables that were replaced with hundreds of individual desks, with white faces to take their first written examination, Charms, on Monday the sixth of June. For the next two weeks, the fifth and seventh years could be found studying crazily in a last ditch attempt to learn all they could before they sat their exams. Many were found in tears, and many more wished fervently that they had paid more attention to their classes during the year. When they finally finished on the Friday of the second week (Defence Against the Dark Arts was their last examination), the cheering students proceeded to relax as best as they could: by partying in their Common Rooms.

Such celebration was of great annoyance of the other years who were trying to study for their exams the following week, something rather difficult to do when raucous groups of fifth or seventh years in the Gryffindor Common Room were singing incoherently at the top of their voices to the late-nite-party-music on the Wizarding radio. In the end, the other students defied curfew as they flocked to the quieter library, a futile gesture as the seventh years decided it would be very funny to ruin the peace by blasting music into the quiet place with a spell Madam Pince did not manage to reverse until several hours later.

Late Saturday afternoon, when Hermione finally awoke after the rather chaotic and hectic party the night before, she went down to Hagrid's Hut. Making her way through the dormitory and Common Room, she observed that it looked as though most of the others were still sleeping off the night before, and that she was comparatively early to rise.

As she had suspected, a figure topped by a head of white blond hair stood in the shed near the hut. After all, the winged horses had been returned to Hogwarts briefly for the students to be examined on, although they would be leaving again on Monday.

'Draco!' she called out.

Draco Malfoy turned and smiled to see her. They hadn't spoken to each other since the end of their Arithmancy exam last week, in which they had quibbled for about ten minutes on the answer to Question Sixteen, before heading off to their common rooms to study for Transfiguration the next day.

'Awake?' he asked, half-mockingly, seeing her yawn. His hair was slightly tousled from the wind – he had obviously just flown Pegasus.

'Didn't sleep until past five o'clock,' Hermione answered, a little sleepily. 'Seamus and Dean decided the party had to go from dusk till dawn, so everybody else in Gryffindor Tower is still asleep. I just happen to be the one who drank the least. You wouldn't think you could get tipsy on Butterbeer,' she commented wryly.

Draco nodded. 'Same with the Slytherins,' he acknowledged. 'Watching Vince trying to dirty dance with Millicent Bulstroude was a tad bit disturbing, to say the least,' he added with a short laugh.

Hermione giggled at the thought of Crabbe and Millicent Bulstroude dancing provocatively.

'How have you been?' she asked though when she had stopped laughing.

Draco shrugged. 'I'm fine,' he said honestly.

'No headaches or anything?' she asked anxiously.

He smiled. 'I'm fine!' he repeated. 'Dumbledore managed to fix my head up right. The old coot does have his uses after all,' he conceded.

Hermione raised her brows at his irrespective term, but didn't bother reprimanding him. She was just glad to see he was well and alive. 'Do you ever get nightmares, about what happened?' she asked abruptly.

He frowned, while still grinning. 'Didn't anybody ever tell you never to ask a guy if he's had _nightmares?_'

Hermione swatted at him as he laughed at her. 'Be serious!' she protested.

'No, no,' he said, still chuckling a little. 'I'm really okay. The mad lunatic who runs our school cleaned my head up right.'

'Good,' Hermione said, relieved. If Draco could take on that sarcastic tone of his, he must have recovered. She watched as Draco patted Pegasus' nose, thinking. 'Harry told me that you were the one who knew I was missing,' she said. 'How?'

He shrugged, not answering.

'He said you knew where to find me,' Hermione said persistently, remembering. 'How?'

'Magic. How else?' he said carelessly.

The unsatisfactory response tweaked something in Hermione's memory as it echoed, and she frowned, trying to remember what it was about the answer that should have said something to her, should have meant something to her, but failed to do so.

She dismissed the thought then. She was just being silly.

'I'm sorry for thinking you betrayed us,' she said, face going pink.

'So that's why you came down here to talk,' he said, a faint note of satisfaction to his voice.

'No!' Hermione protested. His grey eyes looked at her questioningly, and she flushed redder. 'Yes,' she admitted in a small voice. 'I'm sorry I thought you betrayed me.'

Draco looked at her seriously, but then smiled. 'I probably would have thought the same thing,' he said, kindly, his tone of voice completely unlike the Draco Malfoy of old.

'Or maybe not,' Hermione said quietly, voice subdued. She glanced at him. 'You're not angry at me?'

'No,' he said sincerely. 'I would like it though if you'll trust me from now on.'

'I will!' Hermione said earnestly, her brown eyes locking with his briefly. She looked away at once. 'You know, Harry trusted you, he was the one who insisted we turn back for you.'

'So _he _came back to save me?' Draco asked, looking at Hermione. He had been wondering about this ever since he recovered.

Hermione nodded. 'He's a better person than I am,' she said ruefully.

'Saint Potter,' Draco just said, although his grey eyes were contemplative with thought.

'You know, it was the photograph that made me think you betrayed us,' Hermione said bluntly.

Draco jolted from his musings, and looking at her, nodded. 'Weasley told us _you _went ransacking through my bag,' he accused, smiling a little.

Hermione shrugged. 'I needed your Ancient Runes notes,' she said in explanation.

Draco smiled. 'I bet I beat you in Ancient Runes,' he said lightly.

'You probably did,' Hermione admitted. 'But I probably thrashed you in Transfiguration.'

Draco shrugged off-handedly. 'No matter. But Arithmancy … I definitely beat you in that. Question Sixteen –'

'No way!' Hermione exclaimed heatedly.

Draco grinned, but Hermione was not easily deterred, thinking back to the photograph. 'Why did you keep the photograph?' she persisted. 'Why did you keep the bit with me on it?' Her eyes were fixed on Draco as she asked this. She had been wondering about that in particular for a long time, although why, she had no clue.

He was still, and silent, his grey eyes almost aloof as he tried to avoid her question, but Hermione continued to gaze steadily at him, so that his features almost began to give way to an answer, when both of them jumped, hearing a voice calling from behind.

'Hermione!'

Faint, but growing clearer.

'Hermione?'

Hermione's head whipped around.

'Harry!' she exclaimed, and her smile grew wide.

'Hermione?' Harry's head popped around the corner. 'I was looking for you,' he said, beaming, coming over to clasp her hands. 'Ginny said she saw you coming here to Hagrid's hut.'

Hermione nodded, still smiling at the sight of the messy-haired boy with bright green eyes.

Harry, though, was looking past her. 'Malfoy?' he said, only slightly hesitant.

Draco lifted his eyes from where they had rested on Harry and Hermione's linked hands.

'Potter,' he said coolly.

Undaunted by Draco's aloof tone, Harry pushed on. 'I-I wanted to thank you,' he said tentatively. 'For saving our lives. Mine, and Hermione's. I owe you one.'

Draco raised one pale brow. 'You saved my life,' he pointed out. 'You both came back for me,' he said softly.

Harry looked startled. 'I still want to thank you,' he said firmly.

Draco looked at Harry, face unruffled, when a grin crossed his face. 'I'm thanking you too,' he said.

'Thank you.'

'Thanks.'

Hermione, watching the two, laughed out loud. For some reason, they seemed so similar just then. At her laughter, though, they both turned to her, boyishly injured expressions on their faces clearly saying _what on earth are you laughing for?_ She just laughed harder.

'Is she always like this?' Draco commented to Harry.

'I was just about to ask you that question,' Harry answered, watching Hermione giggling away by herself. He smiled fondly though. 'Come on,' he said, and began moving from Hagrid's hut. 'It's dinner time.'

Hermione nodded, her laughter bubbling down, right hand holding Harry's as she headed towards the Great Hall, Draco walking along her left side, slightly ahead.

At the Entrance Hall though, Draco stopped short. 'I refuse to be seen going into the Great Hall accompanied by two Gryffindors,' he said flatly.

Harry looked at Draco, his face tightening. Hermione could see quite clearly that Harry was angry, a little disappointed, that perhaps Draco wasn't intending to become friendly with them. That it was all a ruse.

Draco, however, also seemed to have read Harry's fairly transparent thoughts, and a brow raised again. 'I'm not saying I _hate _you,' he said, grinning slyly. 'It's just that I think the school would have an apoplectic fit if they saw Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, the two greatest archenemies from Slytherin and Gryffindor walking into the Hall on peaceful terms.'

Harry nodded, relaxing, chuckling.

'The place would become a madhouse,' Draco continued. 'Nothing left to keep Slytherin and Gryffindor morale ticking!' he added in tones of mock dismay.

'Would you like to go first?' Harry asked, pretending to be excessively polite.

'Of course,' Draco said arrogantly. He sauntered towards the Great Hall, leaving Harry with Hermione.

Once Draco had left, Harry turned to Hermione, and leaning over, kissed her. When their lips parted, Hermione looked up at Harry.

'What was that for?' she asked teasingly.

'Do I have to have a reason for kissing you?' Harry inquired, smiling.

Neither of them saw nor heard the pale-haired Slytherin, who had paused in the doorway of the Great Hall, sigh as he watched them with darkened grey eyes.

***

The end of term rushed towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The fifth years spent their last two weeks attending a series of lectures on the different subjects they could choose to do in their NEWTs, and also several talks on different careers open to them when they left Hogwarts. A relaxed atmosphere lay heavily on all the fifth years, who eagerly anticipated the lovely two months of summer holidays before they began NEWT studies.

The seventh years were in a fully celebratory mode, since their schooling was almost officially over, unlike the fifth years who still had two years left. Many rejoiced by playing pranks on the school, something headed by the Weasley twins, who enlisted Peeves' help in this. In the last two weeks, many students found sparks and puffs of coloured smoke flying from the Potions rooms, while Snape was absent, and one morning, they entered the Great Hall to find it completely decorated for a late Valentine's day, in true Lockhart style.

When not playing the fool, several of the seventh years chatted with the fifth years who were eager to find out what they were going to do after school. Fred and George Weasley spent all their time looking up information for starting their new shop – Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – in Diagon Alley, while Angelina confided to Harry and Ron that she was trying out for Holyhead Harpies, a Quidditch team in Wales. Alicia Spinnet excitedly told Hermione all about the gap year she was taking in Australia the next year, with Hermione telling her all about Australia, since she had visited last summer holidays, while Katie Bell described to all interested how she was to become an assistant teacher at Salem Institute in America. Frances Bennings, Head Girl, talked about USAM (University of Sorcery and Advanced Magick) with Hermione, the place where she would be studying next year, while Cameron Eddy, the Slytherin Head Boy, told anybody who asked offhandedly that he would be writing for the _Daily Prophet_.

Hermione filled out her NEWT subject choices form (subject to change depending on her OWL results), opting to do NEWT level Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Modern History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Harry decided to keep Herbology, dropping History of Magic, Divination and Astronomy, while Ron chose to take Herbology and Ancient History of Magic, dropping Potions as well as Divination and Astronomy with an almost unholy glee. Draco, on the other hand, chose almost exactly the same subjects as Hermione, except that he had elected to do Ancient History of Magic.

Meanwhile, Hermione found herself at the centre of the gossip circles, after people found out –

'You and Harry are going out?' Parvati squealed.

'How cute!' Lavender giggled.

Hermione thought Parvati was being quite gracious, since Harry had taken her to the Yule Ball last year, but the dark-haired girl seemed quite fine with the idea, since she was now going out with Dean Thomas.

'Have you kissed?' Lavender asked eagerly.

'Is Harry a good kisser?' Parvati asked just as eagerly.

'When did this start?'

'How's Ron taking it?'

'Who else knows?'

'Are we the first?'

Hermione barely escaped from the interrogation intact.

On the second last day of term, Hermione, Harry and Ron, who had been walking towards Gryffindor tower after a talk on Ministry careers, were distracted by the sounds of sobbing and found Professor Arabella Figg sitting at her desk, holding a tear-splotched letter.

'What's the matter?' Harry asked, alarmed.

Arabella Figg blew her nose noisily. 'My daughter,' she said, sniffling. 'Alison Figg, she's a Squib, you know. I got a letter, it says she has brain cancer.'

'Oh, Professor Figg!' Hermione rushed to comfort their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

'I'm sorry, but I won't be able to teach you lot next year,' Arabella Figg said, holding her letter tightly. 'What with all the Order business and Voldemort loose on the school. I'm going to have to stay with Ally.'

'So we're going to have _another_ Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?' Ron asked glumly.

Arabella nodded tearfully, and Hermione shot Ron a glare that clearly told him he was being insensitive. 'I hope your daughter recovers,' she said sincerely.

The old witch tried to smile. 'I hope so too. You lot had better study hard under whoever it will be next,' she warned them. They promised to do their absolute best in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

'We'll miss you,' Hermione said earnestly.

'Well I'll probably still be seeing you lot,' Arabella winked despite her grief. 'There's still Order business after all, and I doubt you three will ever stay out of trouble.'

The Leaving Feast was a somewhat muted affair with Arabella Figg's dampening news. The ex-Auror had been a good and likeable teacher, unlike many of her predecessors, and it seemed unlikely that Professor Dumbledore would ever be able to find a successor. The Defence Against the Dark Arts post was clearly cursed in some way.

On July the 1st, the students managed to find themselves back on the Hogwarts Express, on the way home. The trunks were packed in a scramble, Hermione managed to obtain her list of books to read in the holidays to prepare for next year, and the excited students left the school on the long winding train.

Harry had spoken to Professor Dumbledore about going to live with Sirius, but, as he had told Hermione, that option was not available.

'Did he say why?' Hermione asked Harry curiously on the train while Ron busily tried to chat up several Ravenclaws.

Harry nodded, face bleak. 'He said that my mother died for me, and that her love protected me. As long as I spent my summer with my mother's family, Aunt Petunia, the love would be renewed, and I would be protected from Voldemort.'

'So you didn't only have Professor Figg protecting you,' Hermione said in hushed tones.

Harry shook his head. 'I wish Voldemort were gone,' he said fiercely. 'Then I could live with Sirius and be free of the Dursleys forever.' 

'But Professor Dumbledore let you stay with the Weasleys for the last week of the holidays last year,' Hermione protested.

'But Voldemort wasn't exactly completely active,' Harry pointed out gloomily. 'He is now. I'll probably be stuck at Little Whinging for the whole summer.'

'Don't worry, I'll write,' Hermione promised. 'Maybe I could visit?' she suggested.

Harry's eyes brightened a little. 'That's a thought.'

Ginny stepped into their compartment, followed by Jem Codex. He had enthusiastically posed as a Beauxbatons exchange student for the last few weeks of term, claiming that he felt like staying at Hogwarts, although Hermione had a strong suspicion that he was staying to keep an eye on all of them to make sure nothing wrong happened.

'Hello Ginny,' Hermione greeted.

Ginny nodded, looking determined not to glance at Harry. 'Mind if we sit here?'

'Sure,' Hermione said.

'I didn't think I could stand listening to Chloe, Olive or Jane cooing over Jem any longer,' Ginny added, rolling her eyes as she sat down.

'_I _didn't mind,' Jem protested even as he threw himself onto a seat, feet up.

Ginny gave him a dirty look. 'I did,' she retorted.

'Well! Do I perhaps smell a tinge of something green?' Jem asked, grinning.

'The only thing green you smell is the mould festering in your seventy-year old brain,' Ginny parried smoothly.

'Ouch.'

They began a game of Exploding Snap with the trio (Ron had given up chatting to the Ravenclaw girls).

'Where are you going, Jem?' Ron asked the Metamorphmagus.

Jem shrugged. 'Here and there,' he said vaguely.

'Couldn't you be a bit more specific?' Hermione wheedled.

'Dumbledore would have my head if I were,' Jem said, smiling. 'He's older than me.'

'Any hint?' Harry enquired.

The shapeshifter hesitated. 'Well, a little espionage,' he admitted.

'Of course,' Hermione nodded. With his Metamorphmagus skills, he would be the perfect spy.

'I'm going to stay with Sirius for a little while, though, before he goes on trial,' Jem continued.

'He's going on trial?' Harry demanded. 'He didn't tell me!'

'He didn't want you to get worried,' Jem said. 'In fact, I don't think I was even supposed to say he was going on trial. Oh dear.'

His completely unapologetic expression made them all laugh.

'Sirius'll get off,' Ron said reassuringly. 'With those captive Death-Eaters.'

Harry nodded, smiling.

A white-blond Slytherin poked his head around the corner about an hour before they reached King's Cross Station.

'Draco!' Hermione leapt up to see him.

'I hope nobody sees me in here,' Draco muttered wryly as he let himself be dragged into the compartment.

'Hello Malfoy,' Harry said, concentrating on the Exploding Snap. Ron merely grunted, but without any animosity.

'What are you doing walking around the train?' Hermione asked.

'Greg and Vince are busy eating,' he said dryly. 'I didn't think I could stand it a minute longer.'

Harry and Ron sniggered.

'Are you going back to the Manor?' Hermione inquired.

Draco frowned. 'Mother hasn't actually told me yet,' he admitted. 'I don't know if we can go back to the Manor, because they're busy clearing it of all traces of Dark Magic and Voldemort. It's driving the House Elves crazy, because they're not allowed to help.'

'Well at least now they get a holiday,' Hermione said brightly, remembering SPEW.

Draco shook his head. 'They don't like holidays. Mother says they've been complaining non-stop.'

Hermione glared at Ron who had started laughing.

'When do you lot get your OWLs results?' Ginny inquired.

'In the holidays,' Ron said gloomily. 'I wish we'd never get them. I bet I get "Poor", or "Dreadful" for Potions and Divination.'

Harry nodded. 'Divination especially,' he agreed. 'I couldn't see a thing in the crystal ball.'

'And my tea-leaves wouldn't make a single shape for me to read. They just sat in this lumpy blob,' Ron said glumly. 'What was I supposed to tell the examiners? That my exam results were going to be shit? Literally?'

Hermione tut-tutted his language.

'Oh, come off it,' Ron said. 'You said much worse than that when we were locked up.'

'Really?' Harry and Draco swung around to look at Hermione interestedly.

Hermione's face went red, quickly changing the subject. 'I can't decide how _I_ feel,' Hermione said referring back to the exam results. 'I'm looking forward to it, but I'm also worried I didn't do quite so well.'

'What, that you didn't get "Outstanding" for everything?' Ron asked, snickering.

'Well, I'm worried about my Arithmancy results,' Hermione said, grinning at Draco.

'Time shall tell,' Draco said in a saintly voice, holding his fingers up to make a "sixteen," as Hermione tried to thwack him on the head with a book.

Before the train pulled into King's Cross Station, Draco left, to return to his Slytherin friends, while the others changed into their Muggle clothes. Soon enough, they piled out of the train, dragging the trunks along, to exit via the barrier into the Muggle world.

Hermione smiled and waved brightly to see her parents, standing chatting to Mr and Mrs Weasley. She could see the Dursleys standing nervously to one side, giving the magical folk wary looks. She could also see a woman standing talking to the Weasleys. She looked quite young, and quite unusual, with lurid, long, bubble-gum-pink hair, and was dressed in a pair of patched jeans and bright purple t-shirt. Her face was pale and heart-shaped, with dark twinkling eyes.

On seeing the group of students, she gave a sudden shriek, and running over, launched herself onto Jem Codex, who blinked, and then grinned as she hugged him.

'Jem Codex! I haven't seen you in ages!'

Jem beamed at the young woman. 'How have you been, Tonks? Auror-hood looks like it's been suiting you?' he said, grinning at her.

Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny just stared, as Draco came up surreptitiously from behind them with his trunk.

'My manner's have gone running!' Jem said, realising their stares. 'Tonks, this is Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, this is Nymphadora Tonks _who_,' he continued as Nymphadora Tonks looked ready to interrupt, 'prefers to be known as Tonks.'

Tonks beamed, particularly interested in Harry. 'Ooh, he looks just like what I thought he would,' she said, grinning. 'Wotcher, Harry.'

Harry nodded, just as surprised by the others. All of them, though, felt an immediate liking for the Auror.

'Tonks was my student,' Jem continued. 'Now a distinguished Auror,' he jibed teasingly. 

'Are you a Metamorphmagus too?' Ron asked.

Tonks nodded. 'Not nearly half as talented as Jem though,' she said ruefully. 'But he taught me a great deal,' she added.

At that moment, though, she frowned, catching sight of Draco behind them. 'Oi! You there!'

Draco stopped, and looked at her. 'Yes?' he asked, voice cool. Hermione could tell that he wasn't impressed with Tonks' wild appearance, being brought up to be as decorous as he was.

'You Draco Malfoy?' Tonks asked.

Draco nodded, puzzled as the rest of them. 'Yes.'

Tonks eyed him, and then shrugged. 'I'm Tonks, your cousin,' she said brightly. 'I'm here to pick you up from the station.'

'What?' Draco asked, sounding disbelieving.

Tonks's brows shot up. 'Your mum's my mum's sister,' she said, clarifying relationships. 'And she's staying with my mum and dad for the time-being, while your home's getting fixed up.'

Draco's eyes were wide. He clearly had not been expecting this.

'Got your stuff?' Tonks asked, looking over at his trunks.

Draco nodded.

'Right, let's go. Want to come to tea?' Tonks asked Jem.

'Why not?' Jem shrugged.

'Good bye, Molly, Arthur!' Tonks waved cheerfully, setting off with Jem, talking animatedly.

Draco followed her bemusedly, when Hermione caught at his hand. 'Owl me in the holidays!' she urged.

He nodded, half-smirking. 'Of course. I'd have to write you my OWLs results for comparison.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Have fun,' she said.

'You too,' he said, grinning, as he left the station following Tonks.

Hermione followed her parents as they left the station, while Harry trailed after the Dursleys reluctantly. Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, meanwhile, followed their parents. Looking back, she glanced over her friends, wondering again about the Prophecy Dumbledore had told her about. Her eyes fell on Harry. The one Dumbledore believed was the Golden One. The thought of Harry being controlled by some Prophecy did not surprise her, but unbidden, her eyes drifted over to blond Slytherin, who was reluctantly following Tonks. Draco had some part to play in all this, she thought, convinced. But what part, Dumbledore did not know. She didn't know either.

She forced the weighty matters from her mind, though, as she followed her parents to their car. She could think about that later. Right now, she had to tell her parents all about Harry.

~ The End ~

… for now …


	25. Author's Note: Postscript

THE MANOR

Author's Note: Postscript

And so this part is over. I can't believe I've actually finished fifth year, I never thought I would. And it's turned out longer than I thought. I initially planned about fourteen chapters, and I've finished with twenty-three!

The next part (their sixth year) is still on the drawing boards. I'm still drafting, coneptualising, all that sort of stuff, which will probably take at least a few months. The next part may not even come up until as late as next year, but hey! I've probably got at least three years until book 6 comes out, and my aim is to finish my fic before then. I'm thinking of putting _The Manor_ up at Schnoogle, FictionAlley Park, which means I'll probably be revising, especially once I start writing their sixth year, so you may expect some re-posting of _The Manor_ that should flesh it out a bit more, starting I don't know.

Um, what to expect in the next part? I'm not sure, to be frank. The task of writing the next part seems extremely daunting, in fact – I knew what would happen in part 1, and what to happen in part 3, but the in between is looking really scary. Okay, character wise, more Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Jem, Snape, Narcissa and all that jazz … gang, I meant gang, and a fair bit of backstory, involving the earlier generations at Hogwarts. And of course, loads more of the main characters, and even some new characters. (They're not new to me – they've been with me since this fic began, but I'm not introducing them until part 2.) At the moment, I think the fic will mostly deal with a drawing of power, developing powers, with Voldemort building up his forces, and a piecing together of the oh-so-mysterious Prophecy. It will be bigger scale. Part 1 was centred around Hogwarts and the Manor. Not so for part 2. 

I must thank all my inspirations for this fic: JKR for writing the _Harry Potter_ series (and _Order of the Phoenix_ to get me out of a writing block), Warner Bros for making them into films, David Eddings for his writing style, Tamora Pierce too for her writing style, Harper Lee for writing _To Kill a Mockingbird_ which I borrowed from, and the millions of Harry Potter fanfics out there that I've read and drawn lots of influence from, especially in shaping Draco's wonderful (x million) character. One fic especially – Cassie Claire's _Draco Trilogy_ – was the reason this fic was begun. It introduced me to D/Hr, and also made me want to fix things up since her fic was veering dangerously towards staying H/Hr.

Finally, I'd like to thank all my reviewers for reviewing. 100 was reached! (just!) Lots of especial thanks to those who reviewed frequently ever since they started reading: Porphyrophobic Grape, Wolfy 65 and LilyFlower (sorry if I missed anybody!) The biggest thanks, though, go to Lady Prongs and Cinnamon (Angel), who were my first reviewers, and stayed on till the end! I don't think I could have finished this without you two keeping on reading!!! :)

However, since this is only the end of Part 1, I'll still leave my little personal notes to reviews from chapter 22:

cooky173 – Aussie me too …

Cinammon Angel – I'm glad you like the fact that I update very quickly, but I won't be updating for a long time now … telepathy is pretty cool. I find it scary, personally, because I wouldn't want to know what people are thinking, I think. I wouldn't want people in my mind. If I had any power … I really don't know!

Drex – thank you!

Porphyrophobic Grape – go the Dumbledore-sounding wisdom!

Armitage Blade – thanks! I will try to keep it up.

Lady Prongs – glad to know I'll have somebody to read the next part!

airotci – I really don't have a clue. Big age gap definitely, but no, I don't think anything will really happen there. Jem's already got his big somebody in his life.

LilyFlower – thanks for the info! More questions – are there any exhibitions, or anything hanging around the place? And where are the crown jewels held? Is the room big, well guarded, what's it made off, what's it like? Full description would be fantastic, if you can remember!

wolfy65 – rest assured, you'll know what happens to Draco.

AverageGal – you're meant to be confused! Personally, I hate H/Hr – but I needed a plot device thing, so that's why it's in.

mina-ise – Sirius!

Xaein – D/Hr spread over three years.

DesiGemini6089 – H/Hr is soooo wrong isn't it? But you see, I'm writing three parts to my fic, and the fic isn't totally centred around just love & romance. If Draco and Hermione got together in part 1, there's nowhere to go in part 2+3 except to split up, snog stacks or have lots of mad sex, which, interesting as it is, isn't the path I want to take since my fic isn't romance/angst oriented. Snogging starts in the next part, though, rest assured.

Pansa - thank you for the words of encouragement!

Feel free to keep reviewing – tell me things you want changed, things you liked (so I know to continue them) things you want to happen in the next parts (I'll take them all into serious consideration). Any brits out there? Still searching for a reliable source of information! And if you'd like me to e-mail you when I put up part 2, tell me! See you all in a few months or so! :-)


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